


Of chemmed-up ghouls and smooth-skinned fools

by Roe_Pacmanshooter



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Occasionally strong language, Or not, Pining, Possible Character Death, no idea how long this will go on, one-shot-collection, rated M for possible strong violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-02-18 15:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18702355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roe_Pacmanshooter/pseuds/Roe_Pacmanshooter
Summary: Series of One-Shots set in Fallout 4. Some will be connected to one another, others will not. Not all tagged characters appear in every chapter.





	1. Shards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashcroft_Writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashcroft_Writes/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Nate have only recently left the Prydwen. John is not in a great mood...

The tangy spit of the tenacious crustacean barely missed his head.

John Hancock, generally chem-fueled fiend of raiders, Gunners and all evildoers prowling the Commonwealth, stared at the giant creature with a somewhat confused look on his face. He’d felt sort of sluggish for a few days now. But ever since they’d left the Brotherhood headquarters a couple of hours ago, his body seemed to fight every move he made, even his simple intentions of placing one foot in front of the other.

And now there came this deadly sea creature to take a shot at the solemn mayor, charging him. He stared a moment longer before his ghoul-given natural defiance kicked in, brushing aside any ghosting depression. “Just you try it...” he mumbled, finally lifting the shotgun. Just as he shredded the beast’s head with a well-placed shot, Nate seared a clean hole into its torso with that new gatling rifle he seemed to love so much. The remnants of the beast tumbled through the air. Broken pieces fell in the water.  
“Not your day,” The ghoul muttered, a slight smile on his face. But his heart wasn’t in it. He stared at the corpse for a moment and let out a sigh, the smile fading, the gun dropping. His gaze wavered over the suspiciously clear water.

They were at Boston’s shore, somewhere close to the Shamrock Taphouse, having just passed the old custom house tower. The light hit the water beautifully. John stared at it a second longer before he shouldered his shotgun and sauntered on. His mind was somewhat clouded.

They had just returned from the Prydwen. Nate - or rather, _Knight Nate_ \- had needed to make his report. He was, after all, _‘one of the most important men in this chapter of the Brotherhood.’_ John emphasized the quotation marks in his head as he thought about this. He knew why Nate worked with them. Understood it even. Which somehow just made it worse. They looked at him with the kind of disgust one generally reserved for rotten mole rat.

They looked at Nate like he was their savior.

He, the one who found a way into the Institute, who had infiltrated the enemy with such skill and mastery. Even finding their location was something that many had tried and failed to do for decades. But he, _Knight Nate_ had basically strolled into the Commonwealth, then brought the Minuteman back from the dead before taking on the biggest enemy of the people. 

In the eyes of the Brotherhood, that was.

John sighed again. Everything about this Brotherhood business made him tired and wary. He didn’t really care where they were walking. Of course, he was aware that they were on their way back to the Castle. He had the urge to puff up, but... he knew it was for the wrong reasons. He knew he shouldn’t always chem the blues away. That it didn’t actually help. It just pushed his mood back. The darkness would be parted by that happy, fluffy cloud of chemical goodness that dispersed just as quickly as it came. And he would wake with uncertain nightmares of a hell he had no knowledge of and a shivering he could not shake. 

He got like this at times. This wasn’t about the Brotherhood. Not really. This was just the way it was. Normal, really. The price he paid for being

_…what? A ghoul? A mayor? A drug addict?_

__

__

_…me?_

He hated to see people get hurt. He hated when he couldn’t help them. What he hated most though was when he offered help and got rejected because of who or what he was. 

_Taking help from a filthy ghoul? No thanks. We’d rather starve._

It didn’t happen often. Not like that. But... the subtle looks the settlers gave him when he walked through settlements he’d helped protect... the whispers behind his back... the rumors out of Diamond City..

People had started to talk in hushed voices about Nate too. Because he kept hanging out with a ghoul–worse, not just any ghoul, but the chem-slinging, self-righteous mayor of Goodneighbor. John’s heartbeat did an angry tremolo when he thought about people talking bad about this man because he chose to save the freaking Commonwealth with the Demon of Goodneighbor by his side. He stopped walking and turned, looking out at the clear water again before putting his hand over his eyes for a moment.

It was hard.

Hearing these things every day.

Seeing those looks–even from people who thanked them with their words while their eyes spoke only of mistrust and hatred.

The open threats...

He breathed in the salty air of the crusted waters as he felt a warm presence move behind him. 

Nate. Beautiful, strong Nate whom he’d been traveling with for... four months now? Who wanted to help everyone, despite his personal problems. Who wanted to see everyone’s side before shooting anyone. Who’s untarnishableness suffered because he hung out with the wrong people.

Who kept looking at this old ghoul like he’d hung the moon, the sun and the stars.

If he moved back just a tiny bit he’d be leaning against that broad chest.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?”

John lifted his head a bit, the tricorn hat bouncing slightly. “It’s just... the sea. It always makes me... nostalgic,” he mumbled, trying to come up with an excuse. “Did I tell you about that little shack my father used to take us to? It was out on the waterfront... he took us fishing, me and my brother. Not like we ever caught anything edible, but... you know. It was nice to get out of the city sometimes...” His voice sounded hollow, even to himself.

“Yeah... yeah, you’ve spoken about it... usually when we’re close to the water. While boozing. Or just chilling. But you’re...” Nate sighed. It was like there was some kind of wall between them. Lately they’d both been all awkward and stares, though John couldn’t really say why. At least not while he was sober.

Why couldn’t he just reign himself in? Why’d he have to be so damn emotionally sensitive right freaking now? He was the goddamn mayor of Goodneighbor–a man feared and hated far and wide throughout the Commonwealth. What did it matter what some people said about him? For every Brotherhood psycho up in that damn ship, there were easily ten ghouls in the ‘Wealth that lived with a greater sense of purpose, security or freedom thanks to the actions he’d taken, due to the things that he did, the scum he killed, the rules he established. 

All the Brotherhood could do was judge and destroy. 

If one of their own were to turn ghoul they’d probably kill them on the spot. The only reason he himself was alive right now because he’d been with Nate.

“…But I’ve never seen you like this.”

John snorted. He turned around, staring at the man. “Yeah? What do you mean? Have I turned purple? Because that did happen once, you know,” he said, a feeble attempt to lighten the mood.

Nate stared at him for a moment. John saw him swallow, those eyes tracking over the ghoul, a worried from those beautiful blues. “Sad. You seem... sad, John.” He looked down and back up into Johns gaze again.

John swallowed thickly. He was never like this. Why was he like this now? Well, it wasn’t really _never_ either, was it? It was the quiet hours of the night. The early hours of the morning. The in-betweens and quick shakes. He was the mayor of Goodneighbor. All grand and tenacious, not morose and sluggish. For god’s sake, a freaking Mirelurk had almost eaten him just now if it hadn’t been for Nate. Handsome good-for-nothing-other-than-saving-the-whole-goddamn-world Nate.  
Who was staring at him right now, sunlight reflecting in those stupid shining eyes that looked so questioningly worried that it made his stomach churn and burn. Standing this close to the man was distracting him from his bad mood. Which wasn’t good. Sometimes these things needed an outlet.  
_But not now. Not here._ Not in front of Nate. This wasn’t the time to go all mushy in front of a man who’d recently lost his wife and every chance of ever seeing his kid grow up.

Especially not over something like this.

“I’m just... look. I... it’s stupid. There is nothing going on, nobody ‘hurt my feelings,’” he emphasized the quotation marks with his fingers, “and I’m not… not sad. Just...” He rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “…tired. I’m just tired, Nate. No need to worry.” He gave him the best smile he could muster at the moment. Nate stared at him. Biting his lip. _Hella distracting._

“I...” Nate sighed, looked away. His hand came up, ruffled through his hair, slightly pulling at it. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh? You’re what now?”

“I should never have taken you to the Prydwen. We should have swung by Goodneighbor and I should have come back for you after I was done over there and...”

“Hold on, hold on, what now?” John looked at him, alarmed. The last time they had separated for a time had been agony for him. He didn’t want Nate thinking that he, John, couldn’t handle a bit of friendly bruising with the boy scouts.

Nate looked at him in despair. He gestured with his hands, sighed. Started walking up and down along the pier. Raised his hands again, let them fall. Big sigh. He looked more fragile than John had ever seen him.

“I... They could have killed you, John.”

The heavy silence lasted but a moment before he continued. “They could have killed you and there wouldn’t have been a damn thing I could have done about it. I could have made them pay. I could have wailed and screamed, I could have slaughtered them, blown up the ship, made them regret it in a thousand ways... But... But they could have just killed you. Nothing I could have done would have brought you back. And it would have been my fault.”

John stared at him, shaking. “Now, look-“ he rasped. Nate’s words were unraveling him. He didn’t want Nate to... to see this. To understand the gravity of the situation, the danger he’d put himself in knowingly–willingly–just by going near Boston Airport, by boarding the headquarters of the BOS in the wealth. He’d hoped Nate hadn’t realized that… 

He took a deep breath at the though.

That they would have killed him. That the banter between him and the soldiers hadn’t been any kind of friendly teasing at all but rather cold-blooded, menacing threats. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t said his own piece on that. He’d made it clear to each and every soldier that he would not go quietly into that good night. That he would take as many of them with him as he could. 

But he’d never wanted Nate to worry like this.

“No, John. It’s true.” Nate hid his face in his hands for a moment before looking at him again. “You said it yourself. They’re monsters. What they said to you... I knew it wouldn’t be easy to take you on the Prydwen with me, but… many of them seemed to just look for an excuse to shoot you. And I wouldn’t have... I couldn’t have...” He helplessly flailed his arms, shaking his head in despair. 

“I’m just…so sorry.”

John swallowed again. “It’s... it’s okay...” he croaked. “Let’s just... not talk about this. Everything’s fine.” His mouth was burning now too. His eyes stung, but he was also overwhelmed by the situation as a whole. He felt weak. Those last few months with Nate had been amazing... but also hurtful. They had reminded him how little common people thought of ghouls. How, to many, he wasn’t even a person and more of a _thing_ , and a hideous one at that. 

He wanted to roll himself into a ball and cry. 

He wanted to just lie around and be. 

Why was all of this so hard? Why couldn’t he brush this off like he used to?

He wanted Nate to hold him in those strong arms, telling him he would be okay. 

Instead Nate himself seemed to be in need of reassurance. A desperate rawness to his gaze, a slight tremble in his stance.

“How do you... How do you stay so defiant?” Nate had started staring down again. “How do you go on, besting them in anything and everything they say to you? I can’t-“  
Johns hand fell heavy on his shoulder. “Stop. Just. Stop. Please,” he croaked. He’d tilted his hat, hiding those betraying tears leaking from his eyes. It was too much. Everything was too much. He felt sick with the tension of the encounter with the Brotherhood, the need to be comforted, be held or at least crawl into a dark corner. Hiding his hideous face from the world.

Instead he was here. Out on Boston’s shore. Struggling to find words explaining he knew not what.

“John...”

“No. I won’t talk about this,” he turned away abruptly, started walking, but Nate gripped one of his arms. “John, please just-“

“Let. Go,” he snarled without turning. 

They stood for a moment before the pressure on his limb receded. John grunted as annoyed as he could muster and started to walk away again. Stubbornly, he put on foot in front of the other. His face was wet with tears. He knew not how to handle being like this in company. He’d been alone all of his adult life. Never letting anyone too close, never opening up. Not that there’d been much of an opportunity after he’d turned ghoul. Sure, people enjoyed good sex and he didn’t get his reputation for nothing, but there was a world of difference between a power-driven hard screw and a sensual, loving embrace.

So, he kept walking, his eyes too wet and blurry to see where his tired feet took him. He knew the way to the Castle and Nate was sure to follow him eventually. 

The current lack of following footsteps only slightly unnerved him.

He tried to focus on his breathing. Breathe out the hateful thoughts. The voices calling him a thing. A freak. Dangerous feral. Worthless.

_If that thing even looks like it’s going feral, I’m putting it down._

John’s breath stuttered for a moment. He stumbled under the weight his mind had laid on him before he caught himself. He needed to keep walking. If he and Nate just walked for a while, he would be fine. Everything would be fine-

_Are you sure that thing is tame?_

He shuddered again. What was it, he was feeling? Anger? Disgust? Sadness? Was he angry with himself or disgusted at them?

When he’d turned himself into a ghoul, he no longer wanted to see John McDonough in the mirror. The man who had stood by while an innocent man–a friend–had been beaten to death. Because he was afraid. Because he’d been a goddamn coward.

Had he turned himself into a ghoul so he’d had an excuse to play victim? Look at me, I have it as bad as anyone. People spit at me for existing.

And he’d lashed out at Nate for being worried. For being sorry. For caring.

John stopped dead in his tracks, swallowing thickly. Was Nate even still behind him? He hadn’t walked far–a couple of paces, really. But he hadn’t heard Nate follow him. Had been so consumed in his own damn self-pity. Did he even deserve Nate’s friendship? Never mind that he himself wanted more, but... a man so selfless, so brave and honest like Nate... didn’t he deserve a better companion?

He turned. A man beaten. He dragged his hand over his face, trying to get rid of the salty moisture.

Nate had been lagging behind him. His usually purposeful quick stride was now a somewhat lame trot. He gazed into nothingness, his eyes towards the ground, apparently unaware of John’s halting.

“I’m sorry.” Hancock felt horrible. If a Mirelurk queen were to appear now he could at least sacrifice his life to save Nate and not have this conversation. But he couldn’t _not_ have this conversation either. Nate deserved better. So much better.

Nate looked at him, walking slowly. His eyes looked hurt and guarded. The man had always tried to be as strong and stable as possible–more so than anyone could have expected, given the circumstances of his rather sudden arrival in this post-apocalyptic hellscape. Him opening like he had tried to before was rare. And he’d pushed him away because he didn’t dare show his own weakness.

“I don’t know...” John lifted his arms to his sides, palms up. “I don’t know what I should say.” His arms fell limp. Nothing mattered anymore. He didn’t have the strength to fight anything. Anyone. He’d answer any question Nate might have. And when Nate knew everything, he would leave him. And John could go back to Goodneighbor and puff the rest of his life away.

“Just talk to me, Nate whispered. He’d reached him. Stood right in front of him, yet again, his eyes probing John’s, trying to meet his gaze but being met only with avoidance. 

“Just... tell me what’s going on. I’ve never seen you like this. I understand if the Brotherhood bothers you, but please, just... just talk to me.”

“And what should I say?” John rasped. His chest felt tight. Breathing hurt. He still couldn’t meet those eyes. “That it bothers me... that they call me a thing? That I’m hurt that they’d slaughter each and every ghoul who doesn’t happen to have _Knight Nate_ with him? If I’d shown up at the airport by chance without you in tow, I’d be dead right now. We both know that. So maybe I... don’t do so well being told that they’re so disgusted with me that their biggest worry is how unnerving it’d be to pick up pieces of my corpse if one of them decided to shoot me for no reason...” His voice cracked. Hot tears welled from his eyes. He rubbed them away with the back of his hand. “So... yeah. You asked how I can stand it? Well... I can’t. It kills me. If I’m not careful how I move, how I speak, where I am, they literally would have. And I’m.. I’m just so sorry you have to see this. You deserve better than stupid old me. Getting hurt by fucking words.”

For a moment, all he could hear was the roar of the ocean. The whispering of the waves. The playful gunfire in the distance. He did not dare lift his head to look into those eyes again. To have confirmed all his fears, his self-doubts. Hearing what this man would have to say about his weakness was bad enough. He didn’t need to cultivate the look in his eyes as well.

“Can I hug you?”

The ghoul made a stuttering sound, a surprised feeble noise expressing his shock. “Wh-What? Why?”

“’Cause I... I never want to lose you John...” Nate’s voice was choked and Hancock finally found the courage to look up and at Nate again. His face was red. His eyes were watery and desperate and weirdly hopeful. “…and I cannot convey all that I feel in words...” He took a sharp breath. “Of course, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable-“

John stared. He could barely breathe. Hands shaking, his heartbeat hammered in his ears. 

The shotgun slipped out of his fingers as he leaped forward and shot his arms around the man. There was no thinking anymore. All reason, all careful, fearful artificial distances, gone in a moment.  
He fell into those open arms and tried to hold on. 

As Nate had spoken, Johns insides had melted together. His mouth had distended, everything’d felt warm, suddenly. Warm and hurt and wet and cracking. Strong arms encircled him, pulling him close and John started sobbing. Watery sadness streaking down his face, liquid leaving the holes where his nose used to be.

“It’s okay... You’re safe. I’m here. I won’t let anyone harm you again. Ever.”

John shook violently, burying his face into an already wet shoulder. His hat fell down almost unnoticed as he was too consumed in this... whatever it was. A part of him dimly noticed how good the touch in itself felt. How Nate’s stubbly beard rubbed the side of his head, the plush hair softly brushing his bald skull. John’s hands bunched up in the fabric on Nate’s back as he cried. He’d never allowed himself to have this. To let it all go. Nate’s words had sliced him up. A delicious, clean cut, bearing open all his need, all his pent-up hurt and loneliness. His mind tried to regain control, telling him this wouldn’t last, that any minute now, Nate would stop holding him, would loosen his arms and expect him to be normal again.

He didn’t care.

He’d fought too long. His body felt like collapsing.

Everything seemed to be pulled out from him as this man, this impossible man held him close, making soft, calming noises. One of those hands had slightly started moving and was now softly stroking his neck, the warm skin slowly working its way up his skull. The pureness of the touch melted him even further. A hand in the dark. Resting on his head. Soft. Warm. Comforting. If he hadn’t been crying already, he would be now. Soft weeping was leaving him still.

He had never felt so safe.

As the rest of his strength left him, he wasn’t afraid anymore.

He wasn’t alone. 

He wouldn’t be left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this :) I shall try to upload one story per week for the next four weeks. After that it will be irregular. If you perceive the Brotherhood as portrayed to be a smidge more overly-zealous than ingame.. than I get that. I just decided to do it like this anyway :P  
> Otherwise I'm open for prompts and I appreciate comments.


	2. Elegy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate left to go to the institute. Once again; John isn't happy.

John Hancock lay on the ground in the old state house, his head glued to the floor. 

The reddish hue of the morning sun bathed the room in glistening, burning light. Or so it felt. 

It had been 18 days since Nate had vanished in a beam of light. 

Hancock sighed at the clarity of his mind.  
He’d done it all. Drugs, booze, smokes. Shooting up and pumping down, screaming, wailing, crying, headsmashing his way through pointless arguments, bickering, begging and biting at friends, allies and the almighty fucking cosmos just in case there was such a thing as a higher power.

John sighed, dragging his hand across his wrinkled face.

He hadn’t begged Nate not to leave, of course. 

He’d known perfectly well, that Nate had needed to do this. That this was his central mission, more so, it was his character. He was on the righteous path, caring for everything and anyone he came across, no matter their first-glance ideology or the wrinkle-grade of their skin. 

But he was a father first.  
John had heard so in every word the man said about the past world, his life, his love. The pain he suffered because of the separation from his son – the last possibly living member of his old family – was physically palpable. Especially when they came across children on their travels. Nate was incredibly kind, assuring, friendly to kids of all ages. It was when his pain showed most. 

The grieve that couldn’t be masked behind the kindness. 

Worry and fear grew like a rising shadow in those eyes, graying their shining blue.

John made a choked, dry sound as he remembered the last time he’d seen those eyes. The face of the man was still burned into his retinas. 

_“I’m coming back..”_

_Don’t go…_

Nate had left him.

Of course John hadn’t told the man how much he’d wanted him to stay. To just not go. How scared he, Hancock, was, to lose this friend, this man.  
No. Hancock had been stern and supportive in everything. He’d assured Nate that everything would be just fine out here in the ‘Wealth and that he, John, would of course be waiting for him to return so they could continue their…whatever the hell it was they were doing.

So John gave a thumbs up as the machines whirred, beeped and sparked. Nate had stepped into that teleporter thing and smiled. That incredible smile that usually made John all giddy inside. Like the man was smiling just for him, just because he was looking at this old ghoul…

_“I’m coming back to you.”_

_Don’t leave me behind…_

_Please._

John was alone again. 

At that moment all that smile did, was to remind him what he was losing that very second. Icy sparks sliced at him as the machine whirred. 

Nate had smiled.

_“I’m coming back, Hancock. I’m getting my son and I’m coming back to you.”_

Only to vanish in a beam of light. 

Disintegrated in a heartbeat.

Gone.

John had stood there, a hand raised, touching the air where Nate had just been standing.  
His eyes had suddenly been way too wet for a dried-up ghoul.  
Then everything exploded.

-

Hancock coughed. He separated his face from the ground, an ugly burning on his skin. What had he slept in anyway? He went to the sink to wash off whatever was sticking to him. The ghoul in the mirror didn’t seem any better off then he himself was.  
It was pointless to keep going like this, and he knew it. He’d taken too many chems in the near past, even for a ghoul. He felt it. He was slipping. Getting lost in his grumpy mood like this... it wasn’t mayorly. Hancock started shaking out his frock. It was time to clean up his act, no matter how desolate he felt.

His people needed a leader.

John took an old, crumpled washcloth, rinsed it and started to clean up properly.

He hadn’t heard from the Railroad recently. After the explosion, Tinker Tom had kept assuring them that Nate had properly materialized. But even if he had, who knew what had happened then? Their whole hope had been on him infiltrating The Institute – but how was he supposed to do that? Impress them the way Kellogg did? Shoot his way through? If he had materialized into the middle of a military stronghold, who was to say that he hadn’t just been shot on sight?

John finished rinsing his bald head. He gurgled with some water and shook out his coat some more. As he sniffed it, he realized it could really use a wash as well.  
_Maybe when I’m done making some appearances._  


His worry over Nate was still heavy on his mind and he had no intention of shedding it. But life was still happening. His people depended on him. He left his private quarters and stepped out on the balcony.

Yes. Like a good neighbor, he would be there for his people again. 

He jumped off the high edge and went off to see what was happening in town.

-

The Third rail was abuzz with the happy clouds of songs and laughter. Conversations bubbled through the club, spiced with chems and booze. Hancock sat on one of the cozy couches, swinging in rhythm as Magnolia sang her hit ‘Good neighbor’. It was the third time this evening and what had been frantic cheering the two times before, had become a amicable enthusiastic hum-along from the crowd.

John was content with the situation. He had taken some chems. He had drunken some booze. But he hadn’t gone as overboard as in the past couple weeks. He’d gone around town and checked on everyone, dispersing caps, chems and a bar of soap at one point to those who needed it, generally asking everyone how they were doing and apologizing if he hadn’t been taking adequate care of his constituents recently.  
It had been a good day.  
It could have been better of course. If those starry blues had turned up, for example.  
But this would have to be enough for now.

_I’ll be here when you come back. No matter how long it takes._

A solitary tear formed in his eye. He took a sip from his drink to sooth his suddenly burning chest.

He was content.

This was fine.

It had to be.

-

It had been several hours. While there was still no shortage of patrons in the ‘Rail, the place had quieted down considerably.

“Mayor Hancock?”

John turned his head. “Ham! Why don’t you join us for a bit!? It’s a nice night.. I can send some triggermen to take your place for a bit…”

“You’re too kind, Mayor Hancock, but actually, there’s someone upstairs to see you.”

“Well then, why aren’t they here to tell me personally? Do we have a reason not to let them into the Third Rail?”, he raised the place that used to hold his eyebrow, as his hand reached for a knife on decade-old-reflex, a cheerful smile on his face.

“No Mayor, he said he doesn’t want to come down right now and asked me to fetch you. It’s the Vault Dweller,-“

“Nate?!” John leaped from his seat so quickly, he got dizzy. A drifter who’d been trying to lean into him a little too much, slumped over due to the sudden movement.  
Rushing up the stairs, Johns breath caught in his lungs, but he didn’t care. _Nate! NATE!_ Pure euphoria rushed through his veins, mixed with that sudden heavy feeling in his core, all the worry, the guilt, the fear bombarding him with questions; _Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?_

_“I’m coming back for you…”_

“Nate?!” He exited the upper stairs, looking around wildly.

“I’m here...” John turned his head. Nate stood in the dark, outside the Third Rail. He looked a bit worse for wear. His clothes seemed to have been singed at some point. His hair was mat and sticky.

“Nate! You’re alive! You’re.. not a hallucination, are you?!” For a moment, fear crept into his voice. Had he shot up too much again? He’d been trying to control himself but maybe he had failed and was actually so high he hallucinated all of this?

“I.. I’m real John.” Only then the ghoul noticed how strained Nate’s voice sounded. John came closer, his arms slightly raised, tempted to touch Nate but unsure where the boundaries of their friendship lay. “Nate…?” The man was shaking. His gaze was tethering at the edge of sanity. John stood before him and carefully placed a hand on his shoulder. Nate let out a low, whiny sound at the touch, something John had never before heard him do.

“John… John I…”, Nate made a choking sound. He clenched his teeth, tears welling in his eyes. John stepped up and drew the man in his arms, doubts falling. Nate collapsed into him and started sobbing uncontrollably.

“I.. I can’t.. John I… he.. I couldn’t save him…”

Chilled horror went through Hancock. He carefully stroked his friends back, drawing him in further as the man leaned on him.

What was he to say in the face of this?

It had always been a possibility. It had actually been fairly likely that the kid was dead.

And yet…  
Nate had done so many impossible things already. Him getting his son back wouldn’t have been so surprising in the grand scheme of things. That he didn’t get that, that he’d lost the last living thing he’d loved made John angry. This man had helped so many people! If there was any justice in this cruel world, he would have gotten that kid back. Alive and well and healthy and all those things that could never happen in this life.

The world didn’t work that way.

“Nate I’m… I’m so sorry,” John finally said. “I’m sorry all of this happened at all. Especially to you. This is incredible unfair after everything you went through.” His own voice was shaken but he couldn’t help it. He was filled with relief and joy that this man had returned to him. But this sadness, this pain broke him apart.  
“I’m sorry I wasn’t in there with you. Maybe things would have been different.”

Nate shook his head. He’d stopped bawling but he still held on tight like he wanted to hide from the world by crawling under Hancocks heavy coat. Under different circumstances John would have gotten exciting ideas from this kind of closeness.

But not like this.

Nate slowly drew his head back. His arms retreated a bit, but he held onto Johns side with a strong grip, like a man lost at sea, grappling to a lifeline.

“John he’s.. he’s the director of the Institute.”

Hancock blinked at him. His head sagged forward as his mouth literally stood open in surprise. “He’s…what?!”

Nate let go and rubbed his face with his hands, slightly wailing. John massaged the space between his former eyebrows for a moment. He sighed, placed a hand on Nates back again. “Lets get you inside. Let’s just… Jesus.” John led the man into the old state house and sat him down on the couch. He could barely comprehend what his friend was saying. His son was director of the institute... how? Why? Since when? He took a bottle of good scotch and poured the man a generous amount and slightly less for himself. He didn’t want to get drunk and he’d already had quite a bit throughout the evening.

Nate downed his drink in one gulp. John poured more without asking.

“So.. you were gone...eighteen days. And your sons.. alive. You wanna...walk me through it or…?”

Silence hung between them for a bit. Nate made noises like he was about to speak several times but stopped again and again, burying his face in his hands. Hancock gently leaned into him, their elbows brushing. “You don’t have to.” He said in a low rasp. “I’m glad you made it out. I don’t need an explanation. But.. I’m here, okay? You can... When you feel like it, you can...tell me.”  
Nate looked at him, meeting his eyes. They were full of pain, but alight with live and feeling and warmth. “Thank you John. I…” he swallowed hard. “I… I knew I could come to you.”  
They sat for a bit in companionable silence. Johns blood was pounding in his head at times, while all kinds of emotions fought for supremacy in his heart and mind. Despite what he’d said he really wanted to know what had happened, really needed, _needed_ to know why he’d been away for so long, why he hadn’t send a message, what they had done to him!

But he stayed patient while Nates breathing eased, while he emptied another glass and fiddled with his fingers. “I got there and.. there was no one there,” he said, finally.  
“It was some kind of control room beyond the transporter platform and I started walking and.. there was a voice. His voice. Sh-Shauns voice…” he chocked at the name. “And he just.. told me a bunch of pointless stuff, how admirable it was how far I’d come and that he’d like to meet face to face and he guided me to a stupid elevator and.. I.. it was all so weird, John. It was all.. everything was clean. It was like before the bombs fell. Everything was clean and whole and there where plants and everything looked like some kind of science center from the old world.. I… I can’t even begin to.. it was so.. so strange. And he kept talking to me. I was in this elevator and he talked and he said.. he called himself ‘father’.” His voice broke again on the last words. A couple of sobs escaped his throat. He laughed a small, horribly bitter, dark laugh that turned into a low, anguished cry. Hancock placed his arm around him again and rocked him silently. Nate leaned into the touch for a moment. He breathed heavy a couple of times and eased again under the friendly touch. He sighed deeply and kept talking: “When I finally got to the room.. the room where I was to meet him.. I.. there was.. a child.” He barely whispered now, his voice almost failing him in his pain. “A child behind a glass wall. Imprisoned. It looked like.. like Sh…Sh…Shaun.” His breath only came in low chokes, but he kept going. “Like we saw in the memory den. Like I’d... lost ten years of his…his precious life. But he.. I…” he clenched his fists, his eyes shut as part of a painful grimace. “…he was calling.. for ‘father’…” he whimpered, enunciating the quotation marks with shaking fingers. “he was s-scared of.. of me. I thought he was generally scared and was c-c-calling for-for me. For his father.” Nate no longer held back. His face was wet with salty liquids, snot dripping down onto dirty knees. “but he... he wasn’t Sh-Sh-Shaun… He was a copy. A synth. A boy made to… to test me. Or rather to test him.”, he laughed hollow again. “The actual Sh-Shaun…made the boy to use me to test the quality of the... child-simulation. Can you… Can you imagine?!” His voice dipped too high as he struggled. “I-What kind of person does that?! What kind of man would?!” He shook his head. “Then he stepped out. Shut down the child with one of those recall-codes.. it just sacked over. His tiny head just.. flopped down. The kid was shut off like a machine. And the he.. Shaun.. My son. Explained.” Nate got up. He rubbed the tears out of his face and started pacing. His voice had gotten darker on the last words. More secure. Anger had started to seep out of him. “My son. My. Son. Explained. That he’s.. he’s the Director of the Institute. That not only was I frozen longer than he was, because when I got refrozen it wasn’t for ten years, oh no, it was fifty!” Nate was now furiously marching up and down, caught up in his anger. “No, the only reason, the ONLY reason I was released after this time was because, he let me out. He let me out, because he wanted to see how far I was gonna make it before I die!” John watched in horror as Nate worked himself more and more into a frenzy. His words made John angry too, yes, but-they also made him afraid. Very, very afraid for the soul of this kind man. This man who’d gone through hell and high water to safe his son. Only to learn now that it was his son, who’d made him go through all of this in the first place.

“Nate…”

“No!” Nate stopped his pacing and held up a hand. “No! I know I’m… I know I’m.. working myself up.. I know I’m probably just gonna collapse after.. after I get this out.. but I need to.. I need to get this out…” He was shaking again. John had stood up and walked over, grasping at his forearms. “I know. I’m here. It’s alright. I’m here.”

They kept going through the night. Nate told him his story. How he’d been given a room at the institute. How happy and proud Shaun had seemed to introduce everyone to his father, what hopes he’d expressed in him.

How all synths were essentially his descendants.

That he was sick.

That he was dying.  
How he wanted his father to succeed him.

Nate told John how he had routinely lain in his quarters, crying at the enormity of it all, bawling in the face of this impossible situation. He had his son back. But he was a monster! Here he had a chance to live in a safe, clean environment again–but it was a prison, a society of snobs and fascists!

His whole body had cried in out in relief, the first time he took a hot, clean shower.

His heart had bled at the almost psychotic calmness his son had shown, when talking about his mother’s death. About the deaths of thousands, millions of people on the surface.

They moved back onto the couch later. Nate was running his mouth dry, his limbs starting to give into the tiredness. On Johns insisting he laid down, the ghoul taking a seat beside him, a firm, warm hand kept on Nates shoulder. As Nate got quieter, talking about his work with Patriot, John could tell the man was finally unwinding. The worst things had been said. The hardest truths made reality by letting them out into this world, this space between two friends. The sun was slowly sending its first bright beams through the sky. Nates mumbling stopped at some point, while John himself was getting quite woozy. He’d stuffed a pillow behind his head some time ago so he wouldn’t wake with terrible neck pain, should he doze off.

“Hey John..” Nate mumbled quietly, softly.

“hmm?”

“I’m really.. happy you’re my friend. I’d be lost without you.”

John froze for a moment. He immediately felt warm. A happy smile spreading across his tired face. His eyes got misty as he rasped: “I’m…lucky too. Having met you. I don’t know what I did in life to deserve that. But I’m happy it happened.”

He placed a hand on Nates head, stroking him softly. They fell asleep quietly, the warm buzz of friendship a cozy blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been beta'd and might be changed slightly later. Title might too. Hope you enjoyed this anyway. There will be a second and probably a third part connecting to this chapter. Despite my repetetive trying the layout keeps being fucked up for now. Will be fixed later. So sorry.


	3. Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate knows something he wishes he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immidiately after 'Elegy'. Not beta'd yet.

Nate woke in a state of confusion, his latest dream fading in slow waves. He was still in The Institute, images of half-transformed super mutants mixed with the odor of old bones and rotten blood flashed through his mind. The FEV lab… the old notes, the serum…

What a gruesome place. 

Other things went through his mind as his consciousness tried to get through the hazy fog of dreams.  
He smelled something old, dusty, smoky. It wasn’t a bad smell. Like an antique bookstore mixed with something vaguely spicy and sweet. He felt a soft pressure upon his head.  
Shauns image flashed before him and he shuddered, a choked sob escaping his mouth as baby, synthboy and man melted from one into the other. He started to fight the tiredness. Somewhere he knew he was still dreaming, that he could wake up from all this if he fought hard enough. He struggled against the dark and the images grew violent. Fathers mouth opened to an unforgiving blackness, strands of dark saliva dripping from those perfect white teeth.

Another flash. Nates wife clutching her baby, desperate to protect it as Kellogg shot her.

Father again. His nose seemed to get longer and sharper as Nate struggled to get out of the clutching deepness of the dream.

“Hmm?” Nate heard a low voice of raspy quality and the images fell away. The environment faded to blackness once more. Shaun was gone. The supermutants had vanished. Nate felt conscious of his body once more and started to slightly move his head, his body. “gnnnnn...” He mumbled slowly. Vague brightness became noticeable behind his closed eyelids. There was the smell again. Familiar. Comforting. Somewhat musty.  
Something warm and leathery slightly moved across his head.  
“Hmmmmmnnsnnnvmm,” a sleepy voice mumbled.

Nate opened his eyes. Small holes in the dusty ceiling stared back at him. He tried to turn his head and blushed as he saw Hancock, half slumped over the couch’s back beside him. One of his hands was apparently the thing Nate had felt on his head. The other was resting over his chest.  
Warm, almost burning affection welled up in Nate. He slightly shook as a few tears made their way into his eyes. This man. This beautiful crazy man.  
Despite the sadness in Nates core he couldn’t help but smile up at the John. He was mumbling in his sleep, his head lying on his hat in a half-sitting sleeping position that would probably make all his bones ache for days. It was adorable.

Nate debated with himself if he should wake his friend. The position looked awfully uncomfortable. But it was rare he got a chance to see the man sleeping like this. He looked so peaceful and vulnerable. Having him close like this…  
Nates heart started beating a little faster. He was actually really close to John in ways that could give a man all kinds of ideas. His head was somewhat pressed to Johns spring-like leg muscles and now that Nate was fully conscious he started to appreciate more and more of the situation.  
His gaze traced over Johns strong jawline, the scars, the little holes in his skin. A part of him felt like these things should repulse him more, but it just looked interesting. He wondered what that skin would feel like under his fingertips should he brush it.

  _"If you’re going to Diamond City anytime soon, I have a favor to ask of you..."_

Nate felt like an icy fist punched through his stomach. He tried to focus on the the more pleasant, warm feeling he had before. He’d never seen John’s coat up close. It was another building piece of this interesting man. That rich red overcoat, the gold stitching on the blue west underneath... how did this garment stay so intact for over four hundred years? Nates eyes traced over the ruffles of johns shirt as he stirred in his sleep. His gaze lingered on the mans throat when he remembered how obvious his staring would be to John, as soon as he opened his eyes.

_"You may not be aware of this, but the towns mayor is a synth, an institute plant..."_

Nate clenched his teeth together. He couldn’t keep this out of his head anymore.  
He couldn’t keep this knowledge to himself.  
“John...”, he lightly touched Hancocks left arm which was still above chest. He suddenly felt embarrassed like he was breaching some kind of boundary. But John was already stirring in his sleep, softly mumbling. Maybe Nate should have pretended to sleep until Hancock was awake, had taken his hands away and they could avoid all the awkwardness that came with the physical closeness.

_But his hands feel so damn nice…_

Nate savored the touch as much as he could before John started to slide away as he woke, his limbs feeling around to figure out where the hell his body had ended up this time. Sleepy black eyes opened a tiny bit. “hmmnnnate?” he mumbled as he spotted the man beside him. His hands felt around some more, brushing Nates face and his hair, the other awkwardly grasping around his chest. “Nate!” Johns eyes suddenly snapped open as he realized where he was and what he was doing with whom. He jerked back, his hat falling to the floor. He stared at Nate for a moment, his eyes a mix of frightened embarrassment and mild confusion before he caught himself. “Well...look who’s awake,” he rasped, finally.  
“Hey John...”, Nate looked up to him for a moment and moved to sit up. He felt his face flush again and cursed himself for his timing, cursed the Institute for the knowledge they put in his head. Seeing this man again after what felt like an eternity was balm to his abused soul. Having spend the night in such close proximity to one another, waking to Johns hands still on him... It made Nate weak in his knees, a truckload of feelings suddenly bubbling up, intensifying, reminding him that they wanted, needed to be expressed.

But his mind was all too present and had some rather strong ideas about priorities.

Priorities like telling his friend the truth about a certain mayor.

A man whom John still believed to be his brother, if only in blood.

 

“Urgh..” Hancock had stood up a little wonky, rubbing his face. “You see the brand on the Brahmin that stamped my head last night?” He yawned and picked his hat up from the floor, straightening it out as he went.  
His way of coping with the awkwardness was apparently to ignore it entirely.  
Nate felt a tiny sting. He didn’t know what he had expected. But it had been.. something.  
“We should get some kind of breakfast. Hey, Daisy imported this new stuff while you were away. Its like Cram, but it actually tastes like something! Not meat or anything, but… something.” John smiled at him.  
“I.. yeah.. I guess.” Nate rubbed his neck. Why was everything so difficult? Why did his happy return have to coincide with this thing he needed to say, this mission he had to do? It wasn’t enough that he’d left the institute. He knew he needed to return there. And probably sooner rather than later. What few missions he’d done for them had mostly involved taking X6-88 with him, taking down rogue synths, collecting rare parts or intel of some sort. This was only the second mission where he felt it wouldn’t be frowned upon to not take the courser with him. He’d been more careful on the mission before, not wanting to endanger Hancock by meeting with him – but after completing it, he couldn’t help it anymore. He’d missed his friend so much! And how could he perform this mission without telling him? How could he not tell John that… That his brother was really dead? John had often said that he didn’t care for the man anymore, that as far as he was concerned the mayor of Diamond City could be eaten by molerats and he wouldn’t shed a tear about it.  
But the amount of time he spend complaining about him told a different story.  
John got far to wound up talking about the mayor and his anti-ghoul policies for not caring about the man. His voice usually dipped, his posture slumped and his eyes showed a pain that was usually reserved for a certain brand of personal loss.

A loss Nate himself knew far too well.

The feeling of having failed a person by not guiding them on a better path. Not being there to prevent them from becoming…

 

“Hey, you alright there?”  


“Huh?!” Nate looked up, realizing that he’d gotten lost in his thoughts again. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine… Just a lot on my mind.”

John nodded. “I get it. This thing with your son is… difficult. But we’ll find a way to deal with this, alright?”

Nate smiled faintly and nodded. “Sure. Thanks Hancock.”

 

-

 

“Spit it out, will you?”

Nate clenched his teeth and looked at John sheepishly. “Is it.. Is it that obvious?”  
“You’ve been wringing your hands and avoiding my eyes all day. At first I thought it was because of… something else.” He grimaced. “But thats not it, is it? You know something that you think will upset me. And you don’t wanna tell me.” A low rumble had entered his voice, showing some slight agitation. Hancock had never been one to suffer fools. Or liars.

Nate looked at him directly now. He slightly opened and closed his mouth, gritting his teeth ever so slightly as his head shook in slow movements, side to side. He felt so lost. He had to tell him, but it would hurt him so much. Both of them, probably.  
“I have a mission.” He thought about the consequences for a second. 

Would telling him endanger the mission?

_Yes._

What were the odds of Hancock doing something rash and irrational as soon as he knew?

_Pretty fucking high._

Nate paused for a second before continuing:“I’ve been tasked to get a report from an institute spy. A synth. An infiltrator who is providing important intel to the institute.”  
Hancock clenched his teeth. He breathed in sharply, nodding. He started playing with his knife. “And I’m assuming.. this person is someone I know which is why it has you twisted in knots so much. Its one of my people, then? One of my constituents? One of those whom I’ve worked for and...” he shook his head, mumbling something unintelligible to himself, bowing his head before his gaze snapped back at Nate. “Who is it?”  
Nate looked at him in shock, realizing there was more bad news he’d realized before. Of course John wouldn’t only be concerned about McDonough, but also informants in Goodneighbour itself. Nate had been so overwhelmed with the personal concerns of the McDonough-synth that he hadn’t even considered Marowski as one of the bigger problems.  
He buried his face in his hands, unsure what to do. “God, John I...” He sighed and looked at the other through his fingers. “Look… I want to tell you. But I need to keep my cover with the institute.”  
Johns eyes turned into angry little slits. “Yeah… I know that. But I’m right, yes? This is what you didn’t want to tell me?” He probed Nates eyes with his own. “You do realize that by admitting this, but not telling me who it is, you will make me mistrust everyone in my town? Every friend. Every ally. Do they really deserve that from me, because you can’t trust me to keep my fucking mouth shut?” The anger was now open in his voice, but he hadn’t raised his voice. If anything, he’d become more quiet. His voice laced with a knife to mask the pain.  
Nate shook his head again. He closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t bare the look on Johns face, the anger, the hurt…  
He looked up, clutching his hands together. “It’s...it’s your brother, John. He’s dead. He’s been replaced. The Institute.. they got him. Probably a long time ago.”  
Johns eyes grew wide. His mouth twisted between and expression of shock and pain. He felt around for a chair and sat down heavy. “He.. I… What?!” he stared at him, open mouth, choking dryly as he shook his head. “H-How long?”  
Nate shrugged. “I don’t know. Years. Mabye a decade. I couldn’t find proper records on it that were accessible to me.”  
“John I...” He sighed. “I better tell you the whole truth right now, because you’ll only be mad at me later if I don’t. And I know I can trust you to… not blow my cover.” 

He was slightly unsure while he said this. In fact, he wasn’t sure at all if John wouldn’t lose it and murder every informant Nate told him about. But he didn’t want this to stand between them. While the lives he could save by keeping his cover were important, for him to function as a suitable spy he needed support. This mans support.  
And he couldn’t keep that if he wasn’t honest with his friend.  
“THERES FUCKING MORE?!” John raised his hands in incomprehension. He smacked his hands to his face, carelessly toppling off his hat once more, gripping and pinching into the skin of his skull. “What more?! Who else?!” He started looking around wildly. “Is it Daisy? Kleo?” He put his hand to his chest. “...Fahrenheit? It can’t be Fahrenheit.. Can it?” 

He looked haunted.

Nate had stepped up to him in a heartbeat grabbing his arm. “John. Look at me.” Hancocks wild look snapped to the man, the fear being naked now. “It’s not Fahrenheit. Or Daisy, or KLEO.” Hancocks breathing eased a little. “Well, who is it then?!”  
Nate let go of his arm, biting his lip for a moment. “It’s...Marowksi and the other chem dealer in the Rexford. The guy in the blue jacket.. er… AJ!”  
Hancock blinked. His stance relaxed as he let out his breath only to immediately tense up again. “Marowski,” he snarled, a dangerous glint in his eyes as the knife came up again. “That little cunt.” A viscous snarl had entered his voice and Nate was tempted to remind the man that he couldn’t do anything that would blow his cover but decided it was probably a bad idea at this very moment.  
Hancock had enough on his mind with all these news. He needed time to cope with it. Nate just hoped that he could keep the man from making any rash decisions.

-

Nate went into Diamond City by himself. John hadn’t been happy about it. He had stared at him in a sullen mood, wrapped in a blanket, head full of chems. He’d agreed that it was for the best. Told him to stick his positive outlook on the world to where the sun didn’t shine and told him to be _"fucking careful"_ and _"better fucking return soon"_ and not _"run off to the institute again"_.  
Then he’d slumped down on the bed and turned away, his sullen mood swallowing him whole.

Something about remembering this exchange made Nate happy.

John had almost been possessive of Nates whereabouts. Demanding he returned to him as soon as he was done ‘running errands’ in the city.

Nate felt like he was glowing, despite the grimness of the situation. At least John hadn’t insisted on confronting the Mayor himself. Not yet, at least.

 

He spend some quality time with Nick and Piper, telling them about the Institute behind closed doors, keeping some details to himself. He couldn’t tell them everything he told John. It felt unnecessary to burden them with all the conflicts that riddled his soul, not to mention that certain information would endanger them and the mission.  
So he kept everything on need-to-know basis and played a game with Nat, before proclaiming he wanted to go and talk to the mayor in an effort to haggle him down on the price of homeplate before he’d decide if he would be buying it or not.

 

“Welcome, Welcome. Good to see you again. I trust you’ve been sent by our mutual friend, Mr. Ayo? I hope he’s doing well,” The mayor welcomed him, not at all surprised to see him or doubt that he was a part of The Institute.

Nate smiled as friendly as he could.

_This man took the place of Johns brother and is probably responsible for the death of God knows how many ghouls. And I’m shaking his hand and smiling._

“Yes he’s well.”

_I hate you._

“Good, Good! Well… here’s my report. Its the intelligence on all of our ongoing operations and targets in the are as well as a bigger report on-urgh. Hancock.”  
Nate prayed that his shock didn’t show too much. “The, er, mayor of Goodneighbour?” He tried to keep his voice steady.  
“Yes, maybe you met the man. A despicable ghoul. He won’t shut up about me. Every caravan that comes through from Goodneighbour is loaded with hearsay and rumors about my...loyalties.”  
Nate nodded. “But isn’t that part already a problem, what with Miss Pipers newspaper and all?”  
The Mayor grunted again. “Piper. Ugh. That insufferable little minx. Yes, she keeps stirring up the masses. Especially that last issue.. I’ve been telling our mutual friends that this has been a problem for some time now. But.. Well. Maybe you can reiterate the urgency. I feel like Hancock is the bigger problem though. Rumors that travel here won’t just stop in Diamond City. They’ll go on throughout the Commonwealth with each caravan that comes this way. I keep telling our mutual friends that they need to step up our plan to deal with him. Again, if you could.. reiterate the urgency...”

Nate nodded sternly, taking the report. “I’ll see what I can do.”

His heart felt like exploding as he finally turned to leave the mayor alone.

McDonough wanted them to ‘deal with John’. Piper too as it sounded.  
Nate carefully kept his cool, schooling his expression into a neutral mask as he went onto the outside platform and lowered himself down into the city, breathing carefully.  
He couldn’t tell Piper. She would never be able to keep this knowledge to herself. But he couldn’t not tell her either! As soon as he handed in this report she would be in more danger than she already was. He had to do something to protect her.

Nate walked back into the center of the city. Breathing in. Breathing out. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

“Hey, there you are. So, you buying homeplate or not?” Nate whirred around.  
“Nick!” Relief sagged through him as the answer was staring him in the face. “No, I… he wouldn’t drop the price.” He looked at the synth for a moment, calculating. “Nick can we...talk in your office for a minute?”  
“Well, alright.”

 

“So...you can’t not hand in the report but you’re afraid that it will endanger Hancock and Piper if you do. You don’t want to tell Piper because of what she might write. And you’re not telling Hancock because he has trouble keeping his cool as it is. That about the size of it?” Nick swiveled in his chair.  
Nate nodded anxiously. He wasn’t too sure anymore if telling Nick had been the best idea...but he could at least be counted on to be more rational on the whole situation then the other two!  
“And its about saving… Eleven synths, yes? Well, thirteen actually when you count the two you’re already working with...”  
Nate nodded again. “I just… Its not that I don’t trust Piper to not write about this. I know she wouldn’t when lifes are at stake. But I don’t think she could keep this knowledge from affecting her behaviour. Knowing this information, how could she keep crusading against the mayor in her normal way? One slip of the tongue and we’re toast!”  
“Yeah.. I agree with you on that one. I think you should tell Hancock, though.”  
Nate looked at him unsure. He hated keeping secrets from John and hadn’t wanted to, but he had...doubts. “You think? I…I wasn’t sure if that wouldn’t worsen the situation. He was really...broken up about hearing about McDonough being a replacement synth and all”  
“Yeah, I get that. But think about it. Hancock is probably still a bit in shock and has trouble grasping that the man he’s been hating for years – and rightfully so – is not even his brother. That he’s wrongly accused him for doing something he most likely never did while he was actually taken by the Institute. Probably experimented on too.”

Nate nodded solemnly. He was resting his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands to his heart for a moment.

Nick continued:”Now when you tell him that this impostor wants Hancock killed, what will his reaction be? You know him better than most...”  
Nate thought about it. John was a man who had worked against wrongful hatred almost everyday for most of his adult life. He listened to what the people had to say on ghouls and synths and drifters, then laughed in their face and stabbed them upfront.

Literally.

Hearing that the Institute actually considered him a nuisance worth dealing with would probably amuse him. The fact that it came from Diamond Citys top pretender would possibly actually make it more amusing, despite everything. Because it meant that John had actually managed to get under the guys skin.

A small smile spread on Nates face.  
“I suppose.. he would find some amount of satisfaction in knowing that he annoyed them enough to consider him worth the ‘dealing with’.” He sighed in relief. “I just got so worried about John. Not seeing him so long and then telling him that his own brother had been replaced… it hit him really hard...” he looked down, thinking back on those moments of pain, but also the others. The warmer ones that made his insides all fuzzy.  
“ _John_ , huh?”  
Nates eyes snapped back to Nick who was smiling at him warmly. Nate blushed.  
“Err, uhm...”  
“Well, I’m glad I could be of help.” Nick grinned. “And I’ll keep an eye on Piper to make sure things are okay. But I wouldn’t actually worry about it if I were you.”  
Nate blinked. “Why not?”  
“Well.. Piper being a pain in the mayors ass isn’t exactly a new trend. Neither is Hancocks antagonism, by the way. What do you think how often this guy has asked his masters to deal with them? As I see it...” He took a drag from the cigarette he’d casually lit somewhere in between. “...the guy isn’t that high up their pecking order. Someone like that telling his superiors to deal with his problems...I know the type. Well...Nick knew the type.” He winked mechanically. “I think its more than likely Piper and ‘John’-” He smirked. “-are actually more protected because they annoy the mayor so much.”  
Nate could only smile at that. Thinking back on the army and the way some soldiers tried to deal with slight bullying, he had to agree. Sometimes officers liked to see the obnoxious guy suffer.

As Nate stepped out the gates of Diamond City, he was content. Two days ago he’d felt like going insane. Everything was crazy.

His son.

The Institute.

These things troubled him deeply. His heart grew heavy at the thought of going back.  
But there were lifes at stake. And he wasn’t alone. He had Nick and Piper, Preston, the Minuteman and the Railroad.  
And John.  
He closed his eyes for a second, feeling the warm sun on his face.

Some things remained from the past world.

He turned his step towards Goodneighbour and felt a little lighter. The sadness was still there but it was being prodded and prickled by other thoughts and feelings.

Talking with Nick – finding understanding and advice.

Talking with John all night…being listened to and cared for…

Waking up to those warm hands on his chest…  
He smiled.

Things would be okay.


	4. Wintry days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas time brings happy lights to all bigger settlements of the Commonwealth. What better time could there be for a proper heart-to-heart between _friends?_

Sanctuary Hills was bathed in the lights, songs and smells of Christmas time.  
Nate had been pleasantly surprised to find this wintry holiday still being celebrated even in the post-apocalyptic wasteland. Sure, the eggnog was a bit more colorful and uneven then he was used to, and the Christmas lights were fewer and less over-the-top then he remembered but it was a celebration nevertheless.  
Thankfully, it wasn‘t actually Christmas, though.  
The thought of his actual first Christmas without his wife was terrifying enough as it was. He didn‘t need it sprung on him with no warning whatsoever to boot. Which was why he was glad they started putting the lights up early. As Piper had put it, they started putting up decorations by early December in all bigger settlements to "get people to buy their pine cones with funny noses" as early as possible. Nate could only chuckle at that.  
Some things truly never changed.  
At least they didn‘t start selling Christmas cookies in October.

He was leaning on a doorframe in the minutemen headquarters and watched the people around him, having a drink, relaxing, enjoying themselves. 

Piper, Nick, MacCready, Codsworth.. even Danse… they all sat around with the minutemen, having a laugh, sharing songs and stories. There was a sense of peace and comradery in the air that had been missing in recent times. Having a peaceful celebration that had nothing to do with killing anyone or taking over territory or any of the other ghastly things they usually did felt good. Calm.  
Like a cheerful, relaxed, family gathering, really.  
Nate smiled as he gazed over the crowd, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time. He felt blessed having found so many friends, so many allies. Good people who tried their best to better the world and help others, despite living in a post-apocalytic wasteland.  
There was only one person missing really.

Where was Hancock?

His red coat and the big hat were nowhere to be seen, not even draped over a barstool. It wasn’t like him to miss a party.  
_Where are you?_

He felt silly. It had been an hour, two, at most, since he’d last seen his ghoulish friend and yet his heart felt heavy in his chest.  
He’d gotten way to used to having him around. Like the very air, Hancocks presence seemed almost essential to his continued existence.  
Nate barely resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands in embarrassment over his own thoughts. When had he become so needy? They weren’t even more than friends, they were just…  
He thought about that rugged face, the dangerous yet handsome smile,-  
Nate blushed as his mind wandered and he quickly stepped outside.

The air was chilly. He didn‘t want to draw attention to himself by going back inside to grab his coat, knowing that the look on his face would betray his feelings.  
He started walking around, his eyes not quite used to the darkness yet.  
"John? John!" He was careful not to be too noisy. He didn‘t want to get anythings attention that wasn‘t welcome and he would also prefer if the others didn‘t notice whom he‘d been missing at the party, specifically.  
Nicks knowing looks were unnerving enough as it was.  
As he walked down the main street that would later lead to Concord, he spotted a shadow on the bridge. Leaning against the reeling, a figure larger than life, in a big coat and a tall hat, smoking in the dark.  
As Nate approached, Hancock lifted one hand in a two-fingered salute. As Nates eyes got used to the dark he saw a sly grin in the faint moonlight.  
"John… taking a break from entertaining the masses?" He stopped beside the ghoul, casting his eyes out on the water for a moment.  
John took a long drag from the cigarette and blew the smoke away from Nate. "Well, ya know… gotta make myself sparse sometimes so people notice how much partys suck when I‘m not there..." He winked at Nate, that sly smile widening ever so slightly.  
Nate‘s heart thundered in his chest, his throat and mouth tingling. The feelings he‘d harbored for so long were raging and biting inside of him. He‘d tried to bury them for some time but they would not, could not be contained and he‘d started to wonder…  
...did they have to be?

Hancocks strong features looked even more mesmerizing in the sparse moonlight, his dark eyes glistening, a haunting look of both danger and mystique on that roguish face.  
How many times had Nate looked at that richly textured skin and fought the urge to brush his fingers against it? How often had he lain awake at night, watching him sleep?  
He leaned at the reeling himself, brushing up close to Hancock. His warmth radiated in the night. Nate felt his own face flush a little bit. He was still unsure what to do, if he even should do anything at all-he just knew he wanted to be close to this man.

Hancock finished his cigarette and threw the butt into the water. „But what brings you out here? Me not being there they can probably just about handle without dying on the spot, but missing their General?” He chuckled warmly. “I don‘t think they can cope with that for long.“  
Nates ears turned even redder. He still wasn’t used to being called a General of anything. “Well… You know...People kept swarming me… I think Piper and Curie were trying to flirt with me...” He tried to watch Johns reaction closely, but all his face did was twitch ever so slightly. “....and honestly, I… came out looking for you.”  
John looked up at the starry sky for a moment. It was rare for it to be clear like this – between the radioactive rain and the poisonous atmosphere there was usually little to be seen of the night sky. “You had two lovely ladys flirt with you and come out to see this ugly mug? Huh. Just my luck I suppose.” He snorted amused. They were still standing very close. None of them made a move to push away or to get any closer together.  
“John…?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Have you ever...” His words caught in his throat. He needed to ask. He needed to. It couldn’t… He couldn’t wait any more.  
“Have you, er… ever thought of us as more than friends?”  
John shifted uncomfortably, everything in his stance suddenly suddenly seeming awkward. “I..uh...yeah, sure. We’re best friends. That’s what we are.” He smiled widely, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “not just friends but the bestiest besties ever. Never have to worry about my loyalty, brother.” He casually moved away a couple of inches, patting his coat a bit, pretending it was dusty.  
Nates heart dropped through his shoes. Did he… Was he wrong? Had all this closeness, all the little touches and longing looks been in his head? Maybe John was just like this with all his close friends. Granted he’d never seen the man disperse warm hugs to anyone else, but it wasn’t like he actually knew him all that long…  
“Yeah, no, I… I never doubted that John.” Nates voice was hoarse and small. Being promised friendship like this was a beautiful and rare thing, but…  
He couldn’t let this go. Not now. He needed to be sure.  
“Well good, and I never want you to.” John rubbed his own arms for a moment. “Getting kinda chilly out here. We should head back inside.” He turned and started walking slowly, Nate getting the distinct impression that the man was trying to walk away from something.  
“John, wait. please”  
“huh?” He turned back, a questioning look on his face. Something in his stance clearly said that he wanted to move, needed to leave right now. But he didn’t.  
Nate stepped up to him again. “I… that’s not what I meant when I talked about… being more.”  
“I… that’s-” Hancock shook his head over so slightly, his eyes glancing to the side and away, all to not meet Nates gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. I never said- I mean…. We’re good friends and I like you a lot Nate. But I don’t think we should be anything else but friends. I’m a ghoul after all.” His gravely voice grew a bit small at the last sentence and Nate couldn’t help it. He grabbed John by the shoulders forcing him to look up at him. “I don’t care that you’re a ghoul! That doesn’t matter to me at all!” I just...” His heart was beating in his head like a pounding drum. “I just… want to be close to you.”  
John stared at him, a myriad of emotions going over that weathered face. He made a small, choked sound at Nates words. Confusion, hope, anger and sadness quickly showed on his face in rapid succession while Nate still held him close, his hands on those bony shoulders, his eyes clear in their longing.  
“Let go of me.” John said in a low, rather cold voice. “Is that what this was about? Getting me alone so you could get to me? Telling me the others were flirting at you to make me jealous?” he peeled Nates hands off him and moved away. “Well maybe I don’t want to be close to you like that! Maybe I’m perfectly content being… being on my own and alone and not being touched in a loving way by anyone!” His voice had become unusually loud. It rung of anger and sadness.  
Nate looked at him, crestfallen. Johns tone had taken his heart, squeezing it, wringing it. He couldn’t help the tears forming in his eyes, slowly crawling down his cheeks. The man spoke with such anger, such self-deprecation, it tore Nate in two. He felt like he’d made a horrible mistake, telling this man even this little of his feelings.  
Would he at least be able to keep their friendship intact?  
“I… I’m sorry, John.” He said hoarsely, his voice dipped in tears. “I never meant to upset you… I don’t want to lose you friendship so I’ll say no more of this.”  
John looked at him with a strained, incredibly troubled look on his face, nodding slowly.  
“I just thought you might feel the same, or I wouldn’t have said anything.” Nate continued and Johns face exploded in anger and hurt. “Why would you?! Would I?! Why-Why?!” He started pacing again, waving his arms wildly as he went. “I’m a ghoul! A chem-slinging, drug-peddling knifer! I don’t get to fall in love with a chiseled, pre-war do-gooder like you! I’m just…I’m just about good enough for any old chemmed out whore! No partnership material for a grade-A hero like you!” He too started crying slowly, but his face was contoured with more anger and pain, rather than sadness. “Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter how I feel… As your friend I could never be together with you that way. You may think you like me now, But you don’t know half of my ugly side, inside or out! You haven’t seen all the scars, the disgusting dripping, the holed out skin. You don’t know how many people I’ve killed, what lines I’ve crossed! There’s a reason people fear and hate me, you know… why they fear and hate ghouls...” A shadow of fear crossed his tear-stained face. “So leave me alone, Nate. Leave me alone and go back inside. Flirt some more wit Piper and Curie.” He put on a weak attempt of a playful smile, crushed under his tears. “Maybe you’ll even get both of them to come with you. There’s all kinds of fun you can have with two fit young ladies like that.” He winked at him, his face still redder and more scrawny then ever, then turned in a fluid motion and started walking away.  
Nate remained on the bridge. He sat down and hugged his knees, the cold engulfing him like a cloak.

 

John stepped back into Sanctuary. His face was cold and wet and he felt like throwing up, his insides tearing him apart.  
Why?  
Why? Why? Why did Nate have to be like this?  
John looked into the sky and cried. As Nate had said those words, so sincere and pure, his heart had burst into happiness for a moment. How many nights had he dreamt to touch this man, to hold him in his arms, to run his fingers through that beautiful hair? But he’d always known that this wasn’t an option. Nate wasn’t just a non-ghoul… he was probably the most attractive, healthy person that had graced this wasteland with his mere presence in over a hundred years. With a heart of gold to boot.  
A man like Nate could never, was never supposed to, fall for a man like John. Nate was like a hero from the stories of old, a shining knight who freed the imprisoned, fought evil, fed the poor.  
A man like John Hancock, demon of Goodneighbour, could never measure up to something like that. Not this chem-addicted knife-slinger. No. He knew what he was and while the ghoul wasn’t happy about it, it didn’t mean that he didn’t understand it.  
Dragging Nate into the abyss with this clusterfuck of a mayor was not something he was willing to do.  
He still felt those arms holding him, strong hands grabbing his shoulders as he’d stared deep into his soul, telling him that he wanted more… wanted to be close, to hold and be held…  
John dragged his hands over his face as he wept. He wanted nothing more than going back, dragging Nate from the ground, telling him a hundred, a thousand times how sorry he was for what he’d said.  
But he needed to do this. Nate wouldn’t have let him go if he’d known...if John had told him…  
His own words rang in his ears and he suddenly felt dirty and disgusting. The look on Nates face had burnt its way into Johns memory. That shock at Johns rejection. The pain, the sadness. The almost childlike look of innocence that increased as Nates barriers were hacked down by Johns harsh words, the tears springing as the poison leapt from Johns ghoulish lips.

The uncertain affection, before John had cruelly shut down any possible relationship they could have had.

He felt raw. John barely ever cried. Doing it so much right now gave him a headache to accompany the burning in his chest. If Nate hadn’t said anything they could have just kept on being a bit more chummy and friendly then platonic buddies usually were. There was no way in hell there could ever be such a thing as a casual hug between them now. At least not for the foreseeable future. As the ghoul started to get himself together he realized that Nate still hadn’t returned from the bridge. John had picked his hiding spot with care. From here he could see the towns center and the edge of the bridge, but couldn’t be very well seen himself. He sneaked across the roof to get a better look at the edge of town until he could see his...friend.  
Johns insides shook and cracked as more tears found their way out of his black eyes.  
Nate was sitting on the bridge. His arms hugging his knees as he shook quietly, his head bowed.  
John didn’t need a binoculars to know that the man was still crying.  
_I’m such an ass…_  
This couldn’t go on. He couldn’t let Nate stay like this. At least not out in this weather. Pushing him away would protect him from nothing if he ended up freezing to death anyway.  
John sighed. He couldn’t go back. If he headed over there now his iron resolve would have been for nothing. He would cave, he knew it. He’d rub Nates back and hug him and ask him for forgiveness and they would cry together and make up and…  
He cried out in pain as his heart throbbed with a stabbing bolt of hurt. He clutched his chest and focused on breathing.  
Just imagining what it would be like to kiss those soft lips, those eyes, to take the tears away threatened to make him collapse altogether. He jumped off the roof and looked around. Someone else had to be around whom he could ask for help, right? The general of the Minuteman was in trouble! Didn’t they all come leaping when one of their own needed rescuing?  
Even from their own heart?

“You guys had a fight or something?”  
John spun around to look at the owner of Nicks calm yet inquisitive voice. The detective had stepped out to have a smoke himself, apparently, and was leaning on the wall of the adjacent building.  
“Nick...” Johns mind spun a bit. Nick would get it, wouldn’t he? He was a synth after all – and not just any old synth. A detective. A machine, breaking down, more than a hundred years old. His memories fading but his mind still fresh. Fresh and programmed with the memories of a man who lived centuries past in a dying world with an ashen love.  
“I dunno if I would call it… a fight.” He suddenly felt exhausted. The yelling, the crying, the cold. The weight of his own conflicting, idiotic feelings. It all caught up to him this very second.  
“I...” He dragged his hand over his face again, smudging away the tears, drawing his hat further down so Nick wouldn’t see his eyes. “It was just a little… dispute. No hard feelings between him and me. But he’s...” He breathed in, trying to steady his voice. “He’s in a bad place, Nick. And I can’t look after him right now. Could you… check on him and make sure he doesn’t give himself frostbite?” He couldn’t see Nicks expression but he’d known the man long enough. He was probably looking at him with a certain amount of suspicion mixed with curiosity and understanding, his mechanical eyes whirring softly as they took him in.  
“So you don’t reciprocate his feelings for you?”  
“T-W-kthwpppt?!” Hancock sputtered helplessly. He shook his hat up to look at Nick. The synth looked both worried and knowing which endlessly unnerved the ghoul. “What do you-How...” He made a dry sound.  
Nick kept looking at him, one eyebrow slightly raised.  
John let his arms sack and sighed, his gaze avoiding Nicks eyes. “Of course you fucking know. Has he told you or did you _detective_ your way around his feelings?” The grumpiness was rising in his voice. This was all too fucking much. Couldn’t Nick just let this be, just be a friend and keep the guy from freezing out there while John would go off somewhere and just bury himself?  
Nick took another lazy draw. “It was pretty obvious from the way he’s talked about you, _John_.”  
John sputtered again. “He’s… I...” He buried his face in his hands for a moment, embarrassed and confused. Nate had talked about him? To Nick?! “Look, I don’t… care about all this. I just want to move on. In a few days everything will be fine again and he and I will move on from this.” He breathed in, struggling for control. “Can you just _please_ make sure he’s okay?”  
Nick nodded. “Of course. I’ll look after him.”  
“ _Thank_ you!” Hancock turned to leave.  
“You really should tell him the truth, you know.” Nick walked up to him and carefully patted Johns shoulder. “I’ve known you for a very long time, Hancock… Don’t make him wait too long for you.”  
“I don’t-”  
“Yeah, Yeah...” Nick walked off in direction of the bridge, pausing only for a moment to give John some yellow side-eye. “Sure, sure, you don’t love him… keep telling yourself that and you’re gonna end up miserable and alone. Both of you. If that’s really what you want for him...” Nick walked off, shaking his head at the foolishness of the youth.  
Hancocks gaze followed the man, an all-encompassing hollowness spreading through his cold bones.  
Too tired to cry more he went into the house they shared, took his sleeping bag and dragged it as far away from Nates as possible before flopping down.  
He didn’t want to think any more.

 

The next days were awkward between them. They’d started to travel again, taking care of minutemen business and Nate had made a point of avoiding John physically. He’d consciously sat as far away as possible from John at the campfire while making sure to not face him directly. He drew his hands away as soon as they were in any danger of accidentally touching the same things at the same time, throwing supplies at times rather than handing them over.  
He avoided his eyes at all times.  
Since that night on the bridge he felt hollow inside.  
If John had just been casual about all this, if he’d just… said that he didn’t reciprocate Nates feelings but that he wasn’t bothered by it, or that it was okay, or really just only saying that he didn’t love him and nothing else...it would have been easier.  
Instead he’d gone on that horrible rant. Questioning the very idea of a future together, Not just pushing Nate away but smashing his heart while simultaneously putting himself down as undesirable, unworthy, undeserving.  
It hurt.  
All of it hurt so much.  
John had never said he didn’t love him.  
Nate wished that he’d said it. Because as he had examined their talk again and again he’d noticed that while John had done everything to dissuade Nate from the idea of a relationship, he’d never said that he didn’t like the idea. He’d said they had no future. That Nate deserved better. That there was nothing to love about him.  
But Nate had seen people in denial before and John fit the bill just right. But the man had become so cold, so distant, Nate wasn’t sure he could breach that barrier between them. And if Johns resolve against loving him was so strong, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

Nate sighed deeply. He got up and started packing their stuff together. They would soon move on again. It didn’t do to dawdle on those feelings.  
Whether John loved him or not.  
He’d made his position clear.  
They would never be together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry. 
> 
> Except for it not being beta'd again. :P


	5. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up after a night of heavy boozing to find Nate gone. Takes place in the same continuity as the previous two stories. Layout will probably be fixed some more later.

Roaring waves towered over Johns head. He was wet and confused and the waves kept building and building. He was being sprayed from the sidelines and a slow, rhythmic pain echoed through his head. He tried to turn, to get away from the water- and he suddenly woke up. He sat up in a daze, his knife in one confused hand, the other on his shotgun.

Noone was there.  
He looked around wildly, half asleep.  
“Wsgnsbb?” He mumbled quietly. What had woken him? Granted, the place he’d chosen to sleep didn’t seem to comfy. _I must’ve gotten really high last night… again..._  
He tried standing up. He apparently had had enough sense to at least get some amount of shelter, as he was in the ruin of an old house. Water was dripping through the roof which explained why his face and clothes were somewhat damp. John tried to gather himself and walked outside.  
_Where’s Nate…?_  
Things had been… weird between them, ever since Nate had tried to change what they had. The first couple days had been the worst. All awkward and avoiding which was not a great mix for two people who traveled together – during winter time, to boot, when one could use all the residual body heat a… friend would give off during the night, if one was still comfortable sleeping close to each other.  
Not for the first time he wondered if he’d made a horrible mistake.  
He’d pushed Nate away because he wanted to spare the man the fate of being with a ghoul.  
Or so he told himself.  
The last few days, as he lay awake at night, unable to sleep, he was starting to think that he was lying to himself.  
That maybe he wasn’t afraid that Nate would suffer due to their relationship, that he deserved better, but rather,-  
John fled his thoughts. He gazed into the clear morning sun, making his eyes sting.  
Where was Nate? John remembered they had both set up their sleeping bags near the fire – as far apart from each other as possible while still being close to a heat source. Johns heart stuttered a moment.  
He missed Nate.  
He missed sleeping close to him. Touching him on the shoulder to get his attention on something. Stroking his back when they were talking about the old world.  
Looking into his eyes.  
By rejecting Nate he’d robbed himself of all these small moment that had made his life so much better, their time together so precious. Why didn’t he just…  
He stumbled back to the fireplace. The fire had gone out. Nate was gone.  
John looked over the remnants of their stuff as it dawned on him.  
Nate was _gone._  
Their were signs of a fight – A grenade had apparently gone off nearby where the ground was scorched, pools of blood had spattered the ground, the ashes of the fire were spread out as if someone had tramped right through it. “Nate?! NATE?!” He started shouting, running around he campsite. This couldn’t be, _this couldn’t be!_ He looked at the ground, trying to gather what had happened. What had happened the night before? He had lain down beside the fire, and then…

He was lying in the dark night. The warm fire burning beside him, Nates sleeping bag visible on the other side. They’d said an awkward goodnight before both lying down, preparing for sleep. John bit his lip. If he could just get over himself he would be lying over there. Beside this warm, handsome man.  
The man he loved.  
It still hurt him to admit it to himself, but he knew it was true. He’d been confused for a long time, and when Nate had opened up about his affections it had scared him. For the both of them.  
But he couldn’t.. they couldn’t… opening up about this was a bad idea, a bad idea…  
John felt himself panicking again as his thoughts circled between desire and fear, knowledge and hope. He got up as quietly as he could and walked away, digging through his pockets.  
He found a hip flask and grinned. His last reserve of Bobrow’s moonshine. That would certainly help him through the night…

...which also explained the headache stamping his brain. _Dammit. Dammit How could I do this to him? Leaving him alone at night, time and time again! This is my fault.. It’s all my fault…_  
He looked at the blood. There was no way to say whose it was, but there was a lot of it. And given the amount of footprints and trampled surroundings, there’d been at least three attackers. Probably more. Nate could usually hold his own, but alone, at night, while he was sleeping…  
John fought his stomach for a moment before throwing up.  
This was all his fault.  
He did this.

-

John wheezed his way through the morning. Cold mist gnawed at his clothes but he couldn’t stop to get warm. He’d found the footprints leading to a nearby road. Nate and he had spend the night south of County Crossing. Following the road he would, he knew, get to the edge of Boston, containing several smaller settlements as well as a number of gang-turfs surrounding Bunker Hill.  
_Where would they have taken him? The next settlement? The next gang-outpost? It wasn’t super mutants, they would have killed him on the spot…_  
His stomach burned again at the thought of supermutants getting to Nate, beating him down, tearing him apart limb from limb to make one of their horrible...meatballs.  
_They haven’t gotten him, they haven’t gotten him!_ He tried to convince himself, tears springing from his eyes again. The streets leading into Boston would stop being so muddy, he knew. How would he know where the cart – or whatever they had used to transport Nate, had left the streets?  
He tried not to think about it.  
John was just done crossing the bridge. He was considering to go by the Easy City Downs for his first stop. It was just east of his current position and he knew the raiders lounging around the place liked to keep-  
He quietly cried out again, his breath wheezing.  
They liked keeping slaves.  
John bend over breathing hard for a moment. It didn’t do to keep imagining what they were doing to his friend. His Nate. What mattered was that this ghoul would not leave the man hanging.  
He’d find him and make everyone pay.

 

Nate woke in pain and confusion. He was in a dark, musty room. Everything hurt and was cramped. As he tried to move his legs his naked feet brushed steel bars. _Am I in prison?_ He touched the bars and felt his way around. He was in a cage, big enough for him to sit moderately comfortably but too small to get up. He started shaking from Fear and cold. How did he get here? He remembered getting to bed at night, lying awake for the longest time.  
And then...what? Thinking back he was probably woken my his captors at some point. The memory was hazy. He remembered getting up and firing at someone, crying out for Hancock but the ghoul hadn’t been with him.  
_Oh god.. John. What happened to you?_  
He started looking around. Had they captured him too? Was he with him when they beat him over the head, dragging him over the ground to wherever they were now?  
In the darkness he saw other cages with figures in them but the red frock coat was nowhere to be seen.

Didn’t mean his friend wasn’t dead.

Nate sat down again and hugged his legs. He felt weak and afraid, his mind filled with despair. Ever since that night on the bridge he’d been less resistant to stress, more emotional, less secure in everything…  
John rejecting him like this had destabilized him.

Why hadn’t he just kept his goddamn mouth shut? They had a good thing going. They were closer friends than Nate had ever had in his pre-war life. Even among the others, Piper, Nick, Preston and the others – Hancock had had a special place from the get-go. The charming mayor was probably the most honest and fearless person he’d ever met. He never hesitated to get his hands dirty or standing up to fight, if any of his fellow men needed help. No matter if caps, chems, food or protection. If you had a problem in Goodneighbour, John Hancock would help you, no matter what – even if you were a stranger.  
As long as one was honest and didn’t try to exploit his kindness.  
Finns fate had shown him on day one what happened to people who misjudged Hancocks altruism for stupidity.  
A small sob escaped Nates throat. It was weird, considering the direct murder of someone a happy memory. But the day he’d met this man was the time when his life had finally started to turn around again.  
That was, until now.  
Stuck in a cage in the dark. No tools to get him out.  
His love could be dead.

The door opened and a raider came in, carrying a small lantern and a crowbar.  
Nate had the distinct feeling that his situation was about to become a hell of a lot worse.

 

John approached the Gates of East Boston Prepatory school with caution. He’d heard that it was the headquarters for Zeller’s army before. It had been an issue as of late as Zeller had apparently demanded higher tariffs to let caravans pass his territory unharmed – only to harm them anyway. Fahrenheit had mentioned that Bunker Hill wanted the problem dealt with soon.  
Only no one had volunteered to take care of the problem.  
Until now.  
A cart was parked in front of the building. He’d seen it from afar and now that he was closer he was certain. The big wheels matched the marks he’d seen in the mud – and they were still dirty from the road. Inside where a few drops of blood, some jute sacking and a bunch more junk. No traces of Nate or anyone else aside from a faint whiff of people. _I’ll get you-I’LL GET YOU!_  
John clenched his teeth and checked his shotgun. He’d left most of his pack behind safe for a few stimpaks, some chems and every bit of ammunition he had. He shot up some Calmex and snuck up to the door, opening it silently. It was dark, damp and somewhat musty inside. The ghoul listened into the rooms before moving on. His shotgun would be loud, roaring as soon as he used it. Everyone in the building would be alerted to his presence, unless there were others making loud noises in the early hours of the morning.  
John moved like a shadow through the lower floors, entering an old classroom. Several mattresses were laid out between the small tables, three raiders dozing. Hancocks eyes blazed. He suppressed a growl. Every member of Zellers army was a bloodthirsty monster and as he raised his knife he knew he would never be sorry for killing these people in their sleep. Adroit legs moved him swiftly, quietly around them, his knife blazing slightly in the dull light as he quickly slit their throats.  
Nothing was to be heard aside form a light gurgle.  
He moved on, killing five more, as he maneuvered the next rooms before reaching the stairs. As he turned a corner, he started hearing noises. People were talking. John couldn’t really understand any of it. It was a soft mumble, Probably at least another flight of stairs up. Somebody laughed rather loudly as some kind of commotion started taking part.  
John slowly walked up the stairs, his shotgun primed and ready.  
The scream tore through his insides. It wasn’t far. Up and to the right, he could tell, and he started running. He could hear smacking noises, hard things hitting something soft. John turned a corner where a raider was coming his way, mere inches away. “Hey-” The guy started yelling just before John jumped him, pressing his hand on the mans mouth, furiously stabbing his stomach. Blood and guts spilled on his coat but he didn’t care anymore, driving the man into the wall, stabbing him in the face and twisting it before the corpse fell to the ground. A growling came from his chest as he kept running, putting the knife away for good, prepared to kill anyone with the butt of his gun if necessary.  
He reached the top floor, hearing the voices more clearly now. “...ooooh, you still don’t wanna tell us? Well, we’ll see how much you’ll like it when we burn your feet.”  
An inhuman high-pitched scream rung through the building followed by spiteful laughter. “Awww, the minuteman didn’t like it. How do you like this then, minuteman?” Another blunt sound was heard. Another scream bouncing off the walls, of a more shouting quality this time.  
John pressed his back to a wall.  
There were at least three raiders in there and no matter how much every part of him screamed to run in there right now and just slaughter each and everyone of these people, he knew, going in without a plan would endanger Nate’s life as well as his own.  
_Nate…_  
Everything burned. He regretted everything he said, Everything he _hadn’t said_ so much. Why couldn’t he have just gotten over himself?! If they hadn’t slept separately, maybe things would have been different…  
John whimpered quietly for a moment, thinking about this possibility. The warmth, the closeness...  
_Nate..._  
He wiped a tear from his eye and drew in calming breath. This wasn't the time to be sentimental. He tiptoed his way around the walls, listening to every noise, trying to pinpoint were in the room those goons were and where they kept his friend. Painful minutes passed as they tortured Nate even more, asking for random information and laughing in the face of his pain.

 

Nate felt sick from the pain. When they first took him out of the cage he had struggled, trying to get free, but they’d him with knuckles so hard it felt like he was about to throw up.  
Not having any kind of armor truly sucked.  
They’d preceded to drag him in front of another raider who called himself Judge Zeller. Who’d told him that they could have a wonderful time together...if Nate was willing to cooperate.  
That the minuteman could be a great asset in procuring children for slave labor. That their assistance in transporting them undetected would also be so very much appreciated.  
Nate had spit in his face.  
As they started to beat him with the crowbar he was caught unprepared for the nature of the pain at first. He’d endured a lot of gunfire, punches and even knife wounds over the last couple of months, but a crowbar to the face had a certain quality he’d been missing so far. Maybe it was due to to the fact that it very much felt like they were trying to rip his face off with the damn thing. It gave the whole beating a psychological horror he hadn’t faced before.  
They’d kept shouting questions and demands at him, beating and sometimes slightly stabbing him, but Nates mind had started to wander.  
He kept screaming of course.  
The pain wasn’t strong enough to make him black out and it hadn’t gone long enough for him to go insane yet. He just found a place in his mind to ignore the questions.  
He would never help them.  
Even as they started heating the irons, promising him how much branded feet would hurt, he wasn’t going to budge.  
Using the minutemen to kidnap innocents? Children? Anyone, really?  
Facilitating slave labor?  
He’d rather die.  
_At least they didn’t get John. At least he’s safe…_

He didn’t notice when the red specter jumped into the room. As Zeller moved to burn his foot again, Nates eyes were more focused on that red-hot burning iron coming closer to his skin. He saw the enjoyment in Zellers eyes. “You know General, you just have to agree… You just have to say ‘yes’ and we’ll stop this. What are a few children compared to all the people in the Commonwealth you can still serve? The minuteman are a great cause. And with a few less children you’ll have more food left to feed other people...” he lightly brushed Nates skin with the hot iron and smiled as his victim winced in pain. Nate dimly noted that two people behind Zeller slumped over in rapid succession, an incredible _fast_ something blazing through the room, a gust of wind following in its wake. Nate felt it move behind him as Zeller suddenly jumped up, stabbing the hot iron forward above Nates head while grabbing his gun with the other hand. “YOU WON’T STOP US!” Zeller screamed, shooting rapidly as the red specter moved around Nate again, jumping at Zeller, smacking his head with its own.  
Through bleary eyes Nate saw the shadow slow down. The man had pushed Zellers arms to his sides as he went, gun firing aimlessly in the air. The hot poker flew away as John Hancock, demon of Goodneighbour, toppled Nates torturer to the ground, smashing his head to the floor. Zeller struggled, his hands coming back up, choking the ghoul.  
Nate stared in shock. He wanted to help, _needed_ to help but he was so tired… Everything hurt, everything was confusing and sticky.  
John was here.  
Through his confusion Nate smiled despite everything. _John was here._  
Now he wouldn’t have to die alone.  
But John was in trouble. Nate felt like he was trapped in some kind of fog. He saw his best friend, _the man he loved_ being strangeled, struggling. He needed to do something.  
John had started stabbing the guy, trying to reach for his shotgun again but it had toppled out of his hands when he’d smacked Zeller down.  
Nate looked around. He didn’t think he could stand. He started crawling over the ground, an eternity for two feet.  
He reached the still-red, still-hot poker and pressed it between Zellers legs.  
It took a second to burn through the clothes but despite his clouded mind, Nate had aimed well.  
Zeller screamed. A mindless, high-pitched scream ringing through the dead school. He finally let go of Johns throat who gasped for air for a second, before reaching out for his gun again.  
He stood up in a fluid motion, aiming for Zellers head. The hit splattered his head into gooish bits.  
John collapsed.

 

For a few minutes, all John did was breathing. He hadn’t anticipated Zeller putting up this much of a fight once he’d been stabbed multiple times. _Tough son of a bitch._  
He wrestled himself up, crawling over to Nate who was hunched up several feet away from him, wheezing quietly.  
Suddenly the barrier was back.  
John wanted nothing more than to hug Nate, cleaning away his blood, kissing away his tears, but there was still a certain stiffness between them, neither saying anything, both avoiding their gazes.  
Nate was in horrible shape. Bloody gashes were drawn over his handsome face, one of his eyes swollen shut. Purple bruises showing all over his body mixed with blood and other stains. One of his feet had several burn marks on them. As John took it all in he started crying. Crying over his own failure, his stubbornness, his stupidness. Weeping for this man. He dug through his pack for a moment, grabbed Nates arm quickly adminstered two stimpaks and some med-x. His hands worked with the steadiness of an experienced junkie while his insides were fluttering nervously.

As he looked up again he was slightly startled by the deep, black burieses around Nates eyes, slowly, slowly changing into an angry red. Tears sprung from his eyes yet again.  
Nate looked at him in confusion, the first time he’d sought his eye contact in days while John could just wallow in his despair, shocked at how truly, terribly he’d failed his friend. “I’m so sorry, he whispered, shaking. “I’m just… It’s all my fault.” He reached out to touch his face but Nate winced in pain. John jerked back to have his hand caught by Nates.  
His fingers were broken.  
Nate clenched his teeth at the pain but moved Johns hand back to his own face anyway. He looked at him, a burning intensity to his gaze and tried to say something. It came out incomprehensible as he suddenly twisted his face in pain, rapidly turning his face away before spitting out blood and two teeth. He turned back, his face pale, obviously in pain, his hand still on Johns.  
“Why would… any of this… be your fault…?” His voice was thin and raspy. John moved closer to him, taking his other hand, holding it softly in his own. “I was afraid.” His eyes were still bleary with tears but he saw that shining blue clear as day. “I was certain you’d get tired of my company eventually. I felt you deserved better and that you’d come to see it the same way. Maybe a year from now, maybe a day from now, I was certain you’d look at this ugly mug and realized that this.. that I… wasn’t what you wanted.” he was slowly shaking his head now, avoiding Nate’s gaze again, pulling his hands away. He felt ashamed. He had run from his own feelings because he hadn’t been willing to take the risk. Wasn’t this man worth any risk, no matter how big it seemed? Wouldn’t he gladly give his own life to help him, save him, if it was necessary?  
Had a little trust been too much to ask?  
He kneaded his hands around, looking at the weird pattern of his skin, not daring to look up again.  
What more should he say? What more could he say? Had Nate changed his mind? Did they have a future? Could they have a future?  
Maybe Nate wouldn’t forgive him.  
It was his fault Nate hadn’t been protected, after all. The man had been smashed to holy hell and back and if John hadn’t come when he had he’d been,-  
Johns hands started shaking again, his breathing growing rapid as the panic grabbed him again. He shook for a moment until Nate reached out, clasping his fingers in both of his hands. “John,” he mumbled. “...mm really sleepy...” He was slushing his words, softly brushing one hand up Johns arm before he slumped over, his hands still reaching for the ghoul  
Soft snoring proclaimed him sleeping rather than dead.  
John held his hand and tried to calm down. Of course he was sleepy. He’d been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, beaten and tortured and now pumped full of med-x. Of course he couldn’t have extensive personal conversations right now. Of course. Of course.  
But his insides still squirmed around, words urging to be said, needs unfulfilled. Sure he could just snuggle up to Nate right now, in the middle of all these corpses and enjoy his warmth, stroke his hair, his scrubby beard. But...he didn’t feel he had the right to do so. Not yet, at any rate. He had apologized, yes, but he felt that Nate was probably not even remotely conscious for most of it.  
Looking around the bloody torture chamber he realized he needed to get the man somewhere else. Somewhere safe where he could heal.  
As he was wondering how he should manage two haul 250 pounds of muscular man-meat to safety, a voice called out from one of the cages further back: “Hey, er… is anyone still alive out there?”

 

Nate awoke in fuzzyness. His body felt heavy, sleeps sluggish grasp still upon him. He was warm and comfortable, mumbling a bit. He remembered John and smiled dazedly. John had been holding his hand saying...something.  
John had been crying.  
Nate frowned. His brain was too slow. Why had John been crying? He didn’t like that part of the memory. Sighing he opened his eyes. He was in a dimly lit room with stone walls, lying in an actual bed. He reached up to touch his face and winced. The skin around his left eye was swollen and painful to the touch. _I think I’m drugged…_ It was incredible difficult to focus on anything which increased his suspipicions. Given the fact that he was obviously injured it was probably just med-x. He shifted in bed and remembered something else.  
Zeller.  
He growled as it came back to him.  
_It’s easy. You minutemen help me kidnap some children and…_  
Nate shuddered. Good thing Zeller was dead now.  
He frowned. How did he know that? He tried sifting through the fog of sleep and med-x, his hands moving around the covers as his right hand came across something irregular on a standard bed. He arched his head over and felt his heart jump into his throat so fast, he felt even more dizzy for a moment.  
John was slumped over the side of his bed. Apparently he’d sat on the ground beside him, waiting for him to wake up. Nate sat up slowly, his head thrumming in pain, his heart with anticipation.  
The man looked distressed. It wasn’t the calm, restful sleep that Nate had loved watching for some time but distressed, twitchy slumber. Dark circles showed under his closed eyes.  
How long had it been since he'd had slept properly?  
Nates heart felt heavy with worry. The words they’d exchanged on the bridge still hung between them, no doubt weighing on both of them.  
He remembered John touching his face, holding his hand and cursed med-x’s tendency to screw up his mental capacity's. Why couldn’t he remember Johns words from then? What had he said? What even happened in the first place?  
He swallowed thickly and reached out, brushing the ghouls head slowly.  
It was the first time he touched his face. Without thinking he started tracing the fine lines, softly touching the scars, the small craters. It was fascinating.  
He hadn’t seen John dressed down so much before either. Not only was his hat lying on the ground beside him, his coat having been shrugged off. He’d even taken off his blue brocade west, wearing only a silken shirt.  
Nates hand slowly moved down his slender neck, appreciating how much of it he saw without the usual collars in the way. He got lost in the feeling of that rich texture under his fingers. It was pebbled, uneven, but strangely soft too. As he brushed the side of Johns face the man leaned into the touch through his sleep. Nate blushed, feeling even more warm and buzzing, a delirious smile forming on his face. He stroked the ghouls chin as John suddenly mumbled and started stirring. Nate jerked his hand back. He suddenly felt embarrassed, like he’d overstepped a boundary, his smile falling. Reaching through the mental fog he realized that this was the case because he had indeed, overstepped it.  
What if he’d dreamt the whole thing? Maybe John hadn’t looked at him with that sad yet loving look. Maybe he hadn’t touched his face, telling him...something. And yet, here Nate was, glowing all over his sleeping form, touching and brushing up and thinking all kinds of things that were entirely inappropriate for two friends who had nothing between them but deep, emotional friendship.  
...And hasty, stolen looks of desire. Wishes in the night. A desperate clinging to that hope, that shred of illusion that maybe, maybe they could still have something more,-

He watched as the ghoul slowly sat up, his hands rubbing his head. As his eyes came up to meet Nate’s. He froze for a moment before smiling awkwardly. “Well look who woke up...” He put his hat back on his head and stood up, dragging over a chair and sitting down again.  
The silken shirt on its own really looked marvelous on his slender form.  
Nate swallowed thickly as John met his eyes for a moment before looking down again, twisting his hands around awkwardly.  
“C-Can you tell me what happened? I’m a bit.. fuzzy on how I got here...” He swallowed, not sure what he expected. John nodded slowly, scratching his throat uncomfortably.  
“Well,” he rasped, “We were, er, somewhere a bit more north-east from here, setting up camp for the night. You went to sleep, I, uh...” He looked down again. “I got… kinda wasted. Blacked out. After that...” he made a distressed sound and waved his arms a bit to complement his explanation. “...you were kidnapped. I don’t really know what exactly happened because...” He sighed. “...because I was drunk out of my mind. When I came to, you were… gone. I traced you back to a nearby raider outpost. I went in there and...” His voice ghosted out on him as he worked his throat to keep talking. He looked distressed. “I, uh, I got you out. Along with some other prisoners. I’m afraid you got a bit… hurt in the process.” Nate saw the man clench his teeth and shut his eyes for a moment as he said it, the anger bubbling up in him clear as day. “But yeah, I… I got you out and the men helped me to get you here. They were prisoners from bunker hill where we’re at now. Kessler was really happy, this is her best room.” He grinned halfheartedly, the distressed glint still in his eyes.  
Nate tried to read that face. This was clearly not the whole story. And sure, some was probably because John had found hum in a rather...banged up condition and was troubled because of it. But…  
“Why were you crying, John?”  
“huh?”  
“I remember… you came for me… you held my hand and spoke to me...” Nate was nervous beyond belief. The med-x downed it somewhat, loosened his tongue, made this easier, but he was deadly afraid for John to hurt him,-reject him again if he was even implying…  
“...and you were crying...” He slightly bit his lip, feeling weirdly uncomfortable. Why did everything have to be so awkward between them?  
John cleared his throat looking at his hands again, thinking. He sighed and looked up again. “Maybe its for the best if you don’t remember that.” he got up. “At any rate, I’m glad you’re okay and that I got there in time.” He moved and lightly padded Nates shoulder who seized this opportunity to grab his hand.  
“Stop.” His voice was quiet but steady. Though his head was still foggy there was one thing he knew for sure.  
He wouldn’t go through something like this again without knowing… Without being certain...  
They stared at each other, silently.  
“Just tell me...” Nate mumbeled. “Just tell me… do you love me?” As he spoke these words he was surprised how easily they had passed his lips. He’d been so afraid to say it, to ask it, and now it had left his mouth without checking with his brain first.  
John made a sputtering, coughing sound at the question, his eyes widening. He slightly shook his head, moving backwards, trying to get his hand away from him.  
“Tell me. Please.” Nates voice became even softer, sadder. “I almost died today.” He paused. John had pressed his lips together and stopped moving, his eyes seeming somewhat frozen. Nate continued: “All I could think of as I was sitting in that cage… was how much I regretted what I said… what I didn’t say. What I didn’t ask.” He put his second hand and grasped Johns in two now, looking up to the softly sputtering man in the tricorn hat.  
The man who’d saved him.  
So many times.  
“If you honestly tell me that you don’t… you don’t love me...” His voice broke a tiny bit but he didn’t want to break eye contact.  
John made a warm, raspy sound, his eyes huge and moist, heavy with emotion. He seemed to come to some kind of conclusion as he suddenly sat down on the bed again, his second hand closing over Nates. He worked his throat but didn’t say anything, his mouth opening and closing slightly. He looked down for a second, breathing in slowly as Nate waited and stared and hoped. He wasn’t thinking anymore, he was just watching his love, watched those beautiful dark eyes, the soft leathery hands…  
John suddenly let go of his hands, reached out and embraced him.  
“Of course… of course I love you...” He croaked, his voice growling and thin at the same time.  
The distance between them fell away like a ghost.  
Nate let out a big sigh, melting into those arms without thinking. He started crying silently, pressing John to himself, his hands stroking his back as he moved as close as he could. He softly moved his head against Johns, savoring the feeling of their skins touching, breathing in the soft scent of dry books and wood fire, not knowing why John smelled that way but not caring either.  
Relief and love flooded through him, making him dizzy and giddy all the same.  
John loved him.  
_John loved him!_  
He moved one hand up, stroking the ghouls neck, wondering if the other would be mad if he took his hat away to stroke the top of his head.  
Something tugged at his drugged up mind and he slowly, hesitantly moved back a tiny bit until he could see into johns face again, his arms still holding the mans shoulders firmly.  
Johns face was wet with tears. He looked happy and full of love, but also sad, a spark of anxiety still in his eyes.  
“But why did you...”  
“Because I was afraid.” John rasped. “I was so afraid… to lose you as a friend. To commit and be pushed away. That you would see all of me and realize... that this isn’t what you wanted.” he looked down again and suddenly Nate understood.  
John had spent most of his life being an outsider, an outcast in one way or another. He was used to people pushing him away, be it due to him being a ghoul, a drifter, a junkie or because he wasn’t willing to condemn people just because they were different.  
There probably weren’t too many people who appreciated someone like that in a post-apocalyptic society.  
Nate moved his arms up, softly stroking Johns face, taking it in his damaged hands. He moved closer. “You saved me John. I couldn’t go on without you. If I was to lose you...” he paused, the thought tearing at his heart. “I would be lost. I need you in my life John. I...” He took a deep breath. “I...I love you.”  
John looked up again, teary eyed, uncertain. “I… don’t deserve that. You know what I feel now… but I don’t deserve a man like you. I don’t think...”  
Nate took off Johns hat without asking. He got on his knees, put one arm around Johns back, holding him close, stroking him with the other, arm, his hand, his shoulder. He placed it on his chest as he softly rubbed his face against his bald head, kissing the skin. “I love you, John. I love you,” he kept whispering. Johns words died a raspy death as Nate moved his hand up again, stroking the side of his face, leveling his own before it once more. “Are you saying I don’t deserve to love and be loved?” He tugged at his chin, pleading.  
John sighed, finally giving in. “I cannot… repeat often enough what a lapse in judgement that is on your part.” He was still teary eyed but a genuine smile started spreading slowly over his wrinkled face. His eyes started sparkling as he too reached for Nates face, tracing his hands over his brows, his cheek, brushing a thumb through his beard, Johns own insecurity being replaced with tearful bliss.  
Nate smiled, still slightly insecure. He stroked Johns face with the back of his hand and moved forward, closing his eyes as he carefully brushed Johns lips with his own. The ghoul made a surprised sound, but leaned into it a moment later. Nate slid his tongue across Johns lips, shuddering as the sensation made everything in his body prickle. It was a delicious feeling. His arms moved, their embrace fusing them together even more as their lips, their tongues brushed against each other making everything warm and fuzzy until Nate winced suddenly, finally breaking the kiss. He pressed a hand to his ribs which had finally made themselves noticeable through the haze of med-x. They rested their heads against each other, breathing hard. John still held him tightly, one arm wrapped around his back, the other over his heart. Nate almost heard him smile, a roguish, happy quality in his raspy voice. “Careful now.”, he moved away slightly, biting his lip as he was obviously eager for more. “you really are something…” John closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his breathing, his hand slowly stroking Nate’s chest. “But… you’re also not well.” He opened his eyes again, deep, molten, brown-black eyes fixing Nate with a loving look. He gave him another quick kiss before finally releasing the man from his embrace, standing up slowly. He seemed somewhat out of balance, but immediately stabilzed, moving to press Nate down onto the mattress, gently. “Now the thing you need most is sleep.” John grinned, pulling the covers over Nate and picking up his hat again. He stroked Nates head softly and pressed another kiss on his forehead. “Don’t worry… I’ll be here when you wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo.. this is it, for now. I don't really have the drive to write more, right now. Once I get time/money to get into the DLCs there will be more to come. Happy about any comments though.


	6. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There comes a time when one must choose a side.

It wouldn’t be long until Shaun died.

He knew that. He kept it present in his mind as he was trying to listen to Dr. Filmores explanations about the Institutes plan, to those cutting words as they walked through his head, their detailed meaning crumbling away in an instant. Cold horror chilled his spine.

It was time to get phase three going, they said. To get the beryllium agitator. To get the new reactor running so the institutes future would be insured.  
Nate nodded friendly. This was it. Stand with the Institute now or turn against them.  
He kept nodding, that frozen, half-curious, part-competent look frozen on his face as Dr. Filmore explained the details on the mission.  
Relay to mass fusion.  
Get the Beryllium agitator.  
Kill any Brotherhood-personal that crossed his path.

Every last one.

He kept nodding, his mask heavy on his face, ignoring the cold stiffness that grasped his limbs, spine, thoughts. Memories of people on the Prydwen ran through his mind. Paladin Brandis-who had went through hell and come back from his personal abyss. Lance-captain Kells-whom Nate simply despised for his racism. Danse. The scribe-trainees. Young kids really. Way too cocky for their own good, indoctrinated to believe in a cruel kind of military racism that was almost fascist in its ideology.  
But they were kids.  
Nate stared through Dr. Filmore, still acting interested. He’d trained hours getting this look right. Making sure his face did, in fact, not look like it was made of stone, but rather expressing his unhappiness while still showing determination for the cause. The grim knowledge about what needed doing and the drive to do it despite any personal reservations one might have against the Institutes agenda.  
He was loyal to his son after all, wasn’t he?

“...No. It’s too dangerous. You are too valuable a resource, Dr. Filmore. I will do this on my own. Maybe take a courser with me. A courser and even myself are replacable. You are not, Dr. Filmore. Trained scientists are too hard to come by.”  
She looked at him, frowning. “But my expertise,-”  
“Is far too important for the Institute, Dr. Filmore. My decision is final. I will take X6-88 with me and we’ll take care of this.”  
She nodded, still frowning, but said nothing more on the subject. Nate turned and walked towards his quarters, feeling like he was watching his own movements from outside his body. He silently cursed his previous words. Now he had to take X6-88 with him, there was no way around it. Which also meant that there was very little time before,-  
His heart clenched. He knew what needed doing, in the end. He knew were this was headed, what was going to be done, what he was going to do-but it hurt. It hurt too much to even edge towards the thought.

Shaun was going to die soon anyway.

He swallowed his screams. He couldn’t dwell on this now. Not now. Not here.

As he walked towards his room, X6-88 suddenly appeared beside him. “I hear we’re going out on a mission, Sir?” Nate nodded, already accustomed to the coursers sudden appearing and disappearing. “Very soon, X6. I just have to make a few preparations since I expect the brotherhood will try to stop us. Meet me in the relay room in 2 hours.”  
“Yes, sir.”

Nate went to his quarters, sat down on his bed and stared, a rumbling roar fighting to get out of his chest. He bit into his thumb, his fingers, his arm to make the urge go away.  
This was it. He was going to leave the Institute. Leave his son. He might not see him alive again.  
He might be the one to kill the boy after this.  
He bit down on his hand again, not caring about the pain or the blood that started leaking from the broken skin.  
Images flashed through his mind. Explosions and blood. Soldiers fighting. Synths appearing. Shaun, dead.  
He looked at the white floors, the white walls. A white shower in a white bathroom. Looked around the place, feeling both nothing and everything. Pain. Sadness. Anger. Overwhelming anger.  
But the nothingness encased it all. Ran through his mind like a quiet current. The images kept coursing through his head but they couldn’t quite reach him. He felt trapped in his body, his mind pressing for outlets.  
Nate brushed over one of the green plants, the soft pillow on his bed. Poured warm water over his hand, expecting regret about missing all these things in the near future, missing the simple comforts of the luxurious life the institute could provide. But he felt nothing about the physical world, nothing for hot food or a clean bed or a hot shower with indoor plumbing.  
His mind was made up.  
Nate left his quarters to go and say goodbye to father.  
He told his son that he would be back soon, that he would, of course, easily fulfill this mission for the good of the Institute while his mind kept screaming at him, yealling, roaring that this wasn’t right, this couldn’t be, this was his son! How could be betray his own flesh and blood, the only thing left of the old world, the real world as he secretly called it for this new place this barren wasteland this horrible nightmare still didn’t feel real or true or enough for him,-

Shaun was the only thing he had left of Nora.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this!

The image of his son lying dead – as a baby – as a boy – an old man – kept walking through his mind, fast as lightning, slow as a snail.

He went to the teleporter and relayed to the front door of Mass Fusion, his mind raging, his feet steady. While he wasn’t ready to accept what he was doing, he had no doubt about his loyalties.  
He knew what was right and what wasn’t.  
He pointed to the far edge of the upper platform, pondering out loud if it wouldn’t be better to approach from above. As X6-88 turned to survey the top, Nate pulled out his gun, raised it to the man’s head and pulled the trigger. He felt nothing as the hot blood splattered on his face... His emotions had become a distant thing to observe. Sadness, pain, anger? These things didn’t concern him anymore.  
Nate examined the corpse for a moment and nodded to himself.  
Nothing. Nothing.  
He smeared the blood away from his face, a pointless gesture. His mind felt raw. Barren. In his mind’s eye he felt the ghost of Johns presence. A silent guardian protecting his core.  
He couldn’t smile, cry or grimace. A hollow automaton. Every sinew, every muscle, bone, vein – everything laid bare. His insides screamed at nothing for his mind felt like it was drowning himself. A funeral in his head, burying whatever had been left of his heart.  
Nate had thought about it, time and time again – how far was he willing to go in this infiltration? How many lives was he willing to take, how many lies willing to speak?  
He boarded the vertibird and reloaded his gauss rifle as they flew to the top of mass fusion.  
Time to pick a side.

-

Slaughter. He didn’t count how many synth-parts flew to the ashes, how many limbs he disintegrated. Were Gen1 synths pure machines or could they feel pain? Be Afraid? Peril in the face of death?  
He doubted it, but the specter of doubt usually remained somewhere in the back of his head, even as he killed the last of them, even as the Brotherhood once again hailed him as a hero. He nodded silently at the scribes, the soldiers, as they saluted him before going back outside. The afternoon sun graced a blue sky and cheerful puffy clouds drifted at the horizon.  
He couldn’t take it anymore. Nate felt his mind trying to shut down, wanting to shut down, wanting this to be over. He had betrayed his son, lied to him at every turn to further his own interests. It didn’t matter that those interests had the inherit good of the people in mind, that it was to stand against fascism and slavery. He had taken it upon himself to pass judgement in a dead world upon the very people that carried most of the knowledge of the old world with them.  
How could one man make such a choice?  
Nate activated the teleporter chip in his pipboy and relayed back to the institute. His body felt heavy and numb.

Over.

_Let this be over._

_Kill me now._

“Did you think we wouldn’t know what you have done?”  
Shauns voice cut him like a delicate knife. Deep and smooth.  
He relished the pain.  
“Did you think I wouldn’t know?! I’ve given you everything! Home! A future! We could have been a family again!” The disappointment was clear and Nate felt both gratified and angry, suddenly.  
He was satisfied that Shaun was angry with him. It was what he deserved. He had betrayed him. But Shaun didn’t sound sad about losing him as much as he was apparently disappointed in his actions. Disappointed. Like with a failed experiment.  
_Which is what I am, I suppose…_  
Silent tears welled from Nates eyes as Shaun drowned on: “You are now an enemy of The Institute. You will not be allowed to return. We will send you way. The next time any of us meets you, you will be killed without hesitation.”  
“THEN DO IT NOW!” Nate screamed on top of his lungs, collapsing onto his knees. He held his hands above his head. “HERE! I MAKE IT EASY FOR YOU! KILL ME NOW! KILL ME!” His raw screaming dissolved into inarticulate bawling.  
But the voice was silent. No guards appeared. No lasers shot from the wall. Cold, icy judgement hung in the air but no sound was to be heard.  
Then he saw the lights, felt the familiar tumble in his stomach and cried harder as he was released again, dropping to the ground in the C.I.T-ruins.

_Its all over._

_And they wouldn’t even kill me._

He felt to weak to get up again. Every emotion he’d kept down during the fight, all the anger and grief needed to at least be acknowledged now.  
His sobs echoed in the stony ruins.

High above, a single crow was watching.


	7. Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock finally gets his revenge.

John Hancock sat on the roof of Home Plate, staring across the city. He stroked the shotgun in his lap absentmindedly as another mentat dissolved on his tongue. Binoculars pressed to his eyes, he grinned. A hungry, angry, anticipating grin, mirroring the storm of emotions inside of him.  
McDonough looked worried.  
John licked his lips. He had been coming here a lot when Nate was away on Institute business. He couldn’t accompany his love on these quests of horribleness anyway, and coming here, watching for a slip-up, for any reason to get to this guy, was the next best thing right now.  
His thoughts lingered on Nate for a moment and his heart grew heavy with worry. The man had been even more distraught as of late. Deep circles had started to form under his eyes and his look had been haunted. He hadn’t wanted to tell John what the upcoming mission was about, but he’d been sending a lot of messages and was even more wary of the crows than usual.  
John put the binoculars down for a minute and rubbed his face. It didn’t do to dawdle on this. Nate was out of his reach as of right now and if something happened to him-

He felt dizzy and tried to focus on his breathing. He shouldn’t think of it, shouldn’t! But the images kept coming at him. Nate getting shot. Getting stabbed. Lying dead on the ground, a judgmental old man talking like he was nothing but some kind of failed experiment…  
John felt sick. He stood up, focused on his environment. Yes. This was Diamond City. Home to the most judgmental, racist people this side of the river.  
The place he grew up in.  
He sighed, the present coming back to him. He’d come into the city wearing a gas mask, of course. It was the only way to pass the guards. But up here, on the roof, ready to spring into action, he’d donned his red coat again as soon as he felt fresh air on his face. People didn’t check who was lingering above, whose eyes lay upon them. They were focused on themselves, living in little bubbles, content to never raise their heads, use their ears, their eyes – as long as they had food in their mouths.  
John knew how suddenly the tide could turn if people were hungry for too long.  
He raised the binoculars again.

McDonough was no longer alone. He’d been pacing all morning and as Hancock watched the man, he realized why.  
A Gen 1 synth was standing in his office, talking to the mayor. The latter seemed to get more and more agitated as the talk went on, apparently yelling something at the talking robot.  
John clacked his teeth together. His skin tingled, his hand tightening around the shotgun. Something was about to happen, he could tell. He started walking closer towards the mayor’s office, still watching every move of his enemy. Another figure moved into the room. McDonough jerked around, seemingly grabbing something as a shot rung through the air. The new figure tumbled away. John dropped the binoculars.  
He sprinted over the roofs towards the bridges leading up to the high stands as a commotion started taking place. A security guard came tumbling out of the office, barely making it down the bridge before collapsing. People surrounded him, talking in worried, hushed voices, being only of marginal help in this situation, of course.  
John rushed forward, his heartbeat echoing through all parts of his body. He heard it in his ears, felt it hammering in his chest, blood rushing as his hands and feet grasped for attention, throbbing with excitement for the upcoming confrontation.  
“None of you fuckers think to get him a stimpak or a doc yet? Typical...” he proclaimed as he made his way towards security guard Danny, lying there on the ground, bleeding. John didn’t care if they were outraged about his presence now. What should they do about it? At least he was taking action as they just gawked at the blood.  
Danny looked at him, a sleepy confused stare to him while the ghoul administered a stimpak. “It was Mayor McDonough...” he mumbled. “I saw him with one of those institute synths…I...” He looked at John more focused for a moment, a look of recognition upon his pale face. “Mayor Hancock...its you… I’m… I’m sorry…”  
John raised what would have been an eyebrow but felt too excited to think about that comment. As soon as the medicine had seeped in, he grabbed his gun and started running towards the office again. He would get him; he would finally get him! A part of him wondered why those synths had suddenly turned on each other, but most of his conscious was consumed with red hot rage and the elated anticipation of revenge.

Riding up with the elevator felt like an eternity but as he finally made it to the office he had to find, revenge wasn’t his alone. To his surprise, Piper was banging at the door as he arrived.  
“Dammit I knew you were a synth McDonough!”  
“Yes, Piper! Congratulations! You’ve won. I hope you break your foot trying to kick that door down!”  
John ground his teeth, clicked his tongue. He did not want Piper to disturb this.  
Not. At. All.  
“Piper.” He rasped in a quiet greeting. She whirred around in surprise. “Hancock! What are you doing here?!”  
John felt his eyes grew wide in a bit of a maniac stare, but he couldn’t help it. This was the time. Now was the time!  
“Did you know, the… _late_ Guy McDonough had a brother?” He was still holding his shotgun but had the sudden urge to get more time out of this whole affair. He reached for his knife, brushing the blade lovingly as he imagined sinking it into the flesh of the synth next door.  
Piper was taken aback. “I, - I heard rumors, but I thought he died, way back.” She glanced between the door behind and the ghoul in front of her, obviously conflicted. “But that doesn’t change anything, Mayor Hancock, this man has lied to the people of this town for too long and- “  
“Oh, I agree.” John got very close to her, staring her down. “And I don’t mind you being here. But this is a _family matter_ , you get me? I’ve been waiting for a long time.”  
Piper stared at him. Black eyes much too wide, a bloodthirsty smile on his face…  
John knew the effect he had on people and while he had problems with it at times, today he enjoyed it. He hadn’t missed how the other side of the door had grown very quiet at the sound of John Hancocks signature growl and his hands tingled in anticipation. Piper had stepped to the side, trying to regain her composure... looking like someone had pulled the ground out from under her feet and replaced it with radscorpions. He strolled over to the desk, bend down and pressed the hidden switch he’d known of since before leaving town, more than a decade ago. The door opened and there he was.  
Mayor McDonough, synth-plant extraordinaire, even if it was just for his, ahem, special intellect, stood pressed to the wall, a gun in his hand, a hostage in his arms. As he saw John he shook in obvious fear. “You… It’s you… D-Don’t come closer! I’m… I’m not just going to be discarded and tossed to the wolves. I’m the mayor, goddammit!” He pressed the gun to Genevas temple, his hand shaking.  
John laughed. A low, growling, evil laugh. He sauntered closer, slowly, taking his time. Enjoying every second. “And what then, synth? What then, you replica? Then she will be dead.” He shrugged. “A shame, but you will still be trapped. Here. With me.” He smiled a toothy, evil smile as the synth looked around wildly. Of course, John would prefer it if the secretary lived. He wasn’t about sacrificing innocent people, not even to get his revenge, but what were the options here? Backing down? Letting this guy go, letting him live?  
Not a chance.  
“But, I-I… I’m still a living, breathing person! You can’t just-“ John had an inhaler in his mouth for a split second before he moved forward like a shark on jet. He pushed Geneva down to his right, moving himself in between her and the gun before smacking it out of the synth’s fingers, and suddenly, Mayor McDonough found himself pressed to the wall again, an angry ghoul holding him in place. A knife pressed to his throat.  
“Please… John.”  
The ghoul shook. The tone of voice. Those words.  
He clenched his teeth, snarling at the imposter. “How dare you.” He whispered. Then he smiled and moved the blade up, stroking McDonoughs chin with it before cutting a fine, curved line into his cheek. The synth whimpered and tried to push Hancock away but the ghoul was merciless. He stabbed the man into both shoulders in rapid succession, twice, and watched in glee as the blood spilled, as the synth screamed and howled, falling to the ground.  
John grabbed him by his collar again, holding him upright. “You’re going to answer a few questions now unless you want more pain.” He pressed the knifes hilt into one of the wounds upon the last word and McDonough howled again. “Why are you doing this?! I have nothing to tell you! I have nothing of value! I just want to leave! I just want to get away from all this!” He cried. John pressed the knife under his chin again. “How long have you been here? Were you the one who became Mayor in the first place or did you take the place of the Original Mayor?”  
The synth shook flinched, cutting his own chin. He winced. “I don’t… do you not know how synths work?! I don’t know when I was put here!”  
John blinked, taken aback for a moment. “Don’t fucking bullshit me! I know you got placed here sometime after he was an adult, you synths can’t age! So, when was it?! WHEN WAS IT?!”  
“Please...Please no...”, the synth started crying again as John got louder. The ghoul smacked him in the face. “STOP FUCKING CRYING!” He couldn’t contain himself. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, this tool was to tell him what he wanted to know so he could end him, he needed to END him!  
He punched him on one of the shoulder wounds again and the man howled in agony. “I don’t know! Please believe me! I have no reason to lie anymore! They abandoned me! I’m useless to them now! I DON’T KNOW!”  
John held him by his collar. He clenched his jaw, held onto the man tighter and started dragging him towards the railing. He pushed him on the outside platform with his back to the railing and put his face directly in front of the synths. “How did he die?”, he asked in a quiet, yet steely, rough whisper. “I can let you fall into the masses. Or surrender you to them. I can gut you right here. Spill your blood all over this sad excuse of a civilized society. Or… you tell me how it happened. You don’t know when? Fine! But what happened to the man you replaced? Did they take him? Did you kill him yourself?”  
“I, I - “ The synth shook.

“This is enough!” Piper had found her voice again and stepped up to the platform. “I understand you want answers and closure-but so do these people down there!” She pointed down to the people in the square who were staring up at them. Many of them had raised their fists, angry. Out for blood over their Mayors betrayal. Others looked frightened and confused. “GIVE US THE SYNTH! BLOOD FOR BLOOD!” one loud-mouth yelled. The usual “yeah, he’s right!” which were always present in such crowds followed that demand.  
“These people deserve to see a trial! He has to answer for all his done to this community!” Piper shouted in an effort to be heard over the masses but apparently Hancock had had enough. He didn’t look up once, appearing deaf to her words or the hisses of the crowd. Piper watched as the ghoul snarled at the synth one last time before his knife came down in a raging, jerking motion. Hancock moved like red lightning. His hand sticking the knife into the man’s gut, slicing him up from the belly to his chin, blood spattering everywhere.  
The synth was dead before he hit the ground.  
Piper looked at the man in horror while the crowd descended into mad, scared, outraged shouting. “It didn’t have to end this way!” She shook her head, sadly, worried what would become of the people down there now.  
Hancock looked at her nonplussed, an odd smile on his face as he cleaned his knife. The manic bloodlust seemed to have left him as he stood there in his red coat, splattered with blood, the evening sun a strong contrast to his dark from. “Yeah no.” He rasped. “It did have to end this way.” He looked at the corpse for a moment, a stark sadness seemingly gripping him for but a second. Then he sauntered to the back of the office.

As John exited the outside elevator, he felt the residue of that dark red rage cloud his mind.   
_No answers. No answers!_  
He felt like his vision was blurry, coated in the blood he had just spilled and the one he couldn’t get to. What had really happened? Who had murdered his brother?  
Is he even dead? Are they keeping him prisoner? Performing experiments on him? What happened?  
His mind was circling while he sauntered away as he started hearing people run after him. He felt his mouth widen in a mad-crazed smile as he drew the flaming sword Nate had gifted him. He didn’t care which of these people lived or died. Not anymore. He turned and found himself confronted with several shoddily armed residents. He raised both arms and made an inviting gesture. “Go on. Avenge your mayor. Come and try it. But I won’t hesitate to gut each and every one of you.”   
They stared at him, insecure, and Hancock couldn’t help but laugh, baring his teeth. Three people had come after him. Three out of fifty! And going by their clothes, they were all upper stand garbage who probably worried about their future standing in society. “No spine, eh?” He laughed again, darkly. It really did amuse him. He stepped up to the closest one, a young man with a rusty pipe revolver, pulled out his knife and placed it on the man’s throat in one fluid motion. The burning sword was humming in his other hand. “How is it? This is the very knife I just gutted your mayor with. A murderous, treacherous institute spy. Wanna taste it?” The kid looked at him, shocked, shaking. “I just…”  
“Just what?” The ghoul leaned forward even more so the other got the best possible view of his mutated face. “Thought the handywork of a dirty ghoul couldn’t possibly have been what this city needed?” He moved the knife a tiny bit, slowly, almost lovingly caressing the man’s Adam’s apple with the blade. “Well it’s your choice right now, boy. You can turn away and keep on pondering the worth of man in this crazy world or- “He jerked the knife in a small, sudden motion, breaking the skin just enough for a thin line of blood to trickle down his assailants throat.  
“No…No its fine. We’ll go. We’ll go!” The man appeared to be trying not to shake very hard.  
“Good.” John lowered the knife and all three ran, looking back scared just before they re-entered the city. John enjoyed their fear. And yet…  
He felt empty.  
He started walking again, his mind taking him on a grand tour of Bad thoughts and Dark places. Should he stab himself? Maybe cut open his own arm? He knew the rational thing to do now would be to go back to Goodneighbor and wait for Nate but… he didn’t feel like company. He felt like getting high. Getting lost in a gutter somewhere. Like burrowing all his pain and loss and anger in a big old cloud of Happiness. At the same time, he relished this bad mood. He felt like destroying things. Killing things. Preferably, Institute things, but…  
He stared at the sky. The blood on the face of the synth. His brother. They had looked very much alike…  
He didn’t want to feel anymore. But he didn’t feel like being peacefully happy either. His hand went to his coat pocket to take out an inhaler. As the psycho hit him, his doubts left with his mind.  
Time to slaughter something.


	8. Night over Boston

He’d stopped crying eventually. He didn’t feel any different than he had when he’d first been teleported out here, but his tears had dried. His body felt shaky. His mind was numb. The sadness was still in his body. A weary, encompassing feeling in his arms, legs, torso. As he started to stumble away from the ruins, he felt like his head was sitting on the front of his feet. Dislocated self-awareness, wasn’t that what they used to call it in the fancy psych-Os back in the day?

Whatever.

He walked.

The sun had gone down on him now. It was night in what remained of Boston, and weirdly enough, he remembered all too many things about this city the way it used to be. He thought of sunny days. Noisy cars. Little bakeries with fresh bagels. The smell of a dirty city after the rain.  
His mind opened the hole in his body further. It sat deep within his chest and expanded into his brain. Threatened to suck him in, swallow him whole. Drown him in nothingness and sorrow.

_There was… There was so much I was going to show you…_

He was crossing a bridge. Tears streamed from his eyes once more. Painful, burning tears as he remembered all those talks – dozens if not hundreds… talks about all the things they were going to do with their son once he was born…  
Places they’d show him. Adventures they’d have. Speculations on his favorite animals in the zoo. If they could make him fall in love with the kid of some of their friends…  
Nate tramped through the night. His sadness turning into bitterness, more and more. Now more than ever he felt like the child he’d had back then, the child he and Nora cradled not one year ago.

He’d just died. A kid. Lost in the war.

The man in the Institute wasn’t his son. No, he wasn’t.

_Yes he is._

No he wasn’t! His son had died! Long ago! He’d woken and everyone had been dead!

_He’s still your son. You can’t-_

____

__

**No! No!**

_Yes._

“NO!” He dropped his gun and started hitting the wall beside him, grunting, growling wordless pain. He was wrong. He couldn’t take it; he couldn’t take this! It was too much…  
Nate noticed vaguely that something in his half-crazed mind was ringing alarm bells but he was too caught up to himself to notice anything but the all-encompassing pain in his mind. As the first bullet hit him, he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t really feel anything but the sudden physical pain, stronger than anything he could have done with his bare hands at this moment. He collapsed on the ground. Now he heard the raiders, coming closer, already certain in their victory.  
He lay there and bathed in his pain for a moment. He could feel the shock coming over him but he didn’t want it to. He didn’t want the numbness and nothingness that came with it, the dulling of his nerve endings…  
He deserved pain. He deserved being beaten and abused for what he did, for betraying his own flesh and blood. 

_No._

**Yes.** They would come and punish him, like he deserved. 

_This is wrong._

His mind flashed back to the time Zeller’s army had caught him at night. One of the worst nights of his life. Leading to one of the best things to ever happened to him the day after. 

_John._

His mind grew soft as suddenly that overwhelming warmth filled him and he realized that he had in fact done what he hadn’t wanted to. He’d dulled out the pain. Dulled out reality.  
Dulled out John. In all his pain over Shaun, he’d ignored what he still had in this life. And he wasn’t ready to focus on that now, to feel good about this, but-  
It was something to hold on to.  
He opened his eyes and, for the first time this evening, tried to ready his gun. It was a miracle they hadn’t gotten to him yet anyway. 

__\-----_ _

Johns mind was a hazy blur. The one thing he really noticed in his psycho-induced rage was the blood. He could taste it, smell it, all around him. He was jumping and screaming through a deadly circus. There where bodies in his way sometimes. One, two, fourteen. Body after body fell as he sliced across chests, stabbed through eyes and ripped into exposed throats with his bare teeth.  
It felt good.  
He didn’t think anything. He just reacted. The ruins never lacked bodies to drop. More than enough work for one angry ghoul on chems. 

__His brother lay dead._ _

__This he couldn’t shake. Between the blood, the slicing and dicing, the yelling, the screams the howling, evil laughter it reached him. Reached for his legs. Clambered up his spine.  
A synth, lying dead._ _

__Cold hands in Johns brain._ _

_A young man, taken into darkness. Into unknown._

Each time the flash hit John, the overlapping images crossing his mind, he cut deeper, harsher, wilder. He felt himself screaming. Screaming in rage, in pain, in loss.  
But his mind stayed blissfully free of any conscious thoughts.  
Somewhere in the back of his head he felt a counting. A silent countdown notifying him. 

_You will collaps soon._  
_Stop now._  
_You will die if you don’t stop._

__He laughed. Laughed at himself – his ridiculous old fucked-up ghoul self-and leaned into the pain some more._ _

__\----------_ _

__Nate crouched behind a barrier, wondering how long he would last before he collapsed. He wasn’t losing much blood and he’d already stimmed himself, but-  
He sighed. There were four raiders in the camp before him. That he could see. And he was tired. Weary. Exhausted._ _

_John._

He needed to press on. He just needed to get to Goodneighbor. Everything would be fine if he got there. In his minds eyes he already saw the welcoming neon lights of the town, like warm liquid dropping into his heart. He still remembered how the lights had seemed like a beacon of hope, of civilization the first time he’d seen it flare in the darkness… 

_John._

He tried to get off the ground. How should he go about this? He still had a molotow cocktail – if he threw it at the right time, in the right angle-  
A deep, sickening growl filled the air and suddenly all Nate could focus on, were the wet sounds he could here from the other side of the barricade. Cutting. Splashing, splattering.  
Like someone was literally slaughtering the raiders.  
Nate tried sneaking away a bit but his legs had gone stiff and unmoving. His body finally had enough. He half collapsed on the ground and just stared. Stared as the screams became fewer. More terrified. 

__Ceased._ _

Nate started shaking. The growl was growing quieter, but it was still there.  
The air was soaked with blood.  
Nate fiddled with his Molotov cocktail. Had his arms still enough strength to throw it? What if he threw to short? He’d burn himself. And give his position away. Could he kill whatever had done this before it killed him?  
He heard staggering steps move behind the barricade and started fiddling with his lighter again. To throw or not to throw, that was the question. The steps stopped and Nate heard…  
…sniffing. It was sniffing the air and now the steps came closer in his direction and-  
Nate lost all calm he’d tried to gather before. His mind went blank with panic. He lit the Molotow cocktail, threw it and hoped, prayed for the best.  
It flew across the barricade and lit up the night in bright flames as the growling became much louder and more agitated now. He stared up to the barricade as he heard to loud thumps and suddenly his heart dropped through his soles.  
A man in a red coat had jumped on the top part of the barricades. In front of the shining flames, bloody, burned and ragged, John Hancock stood, the light so bright his stark features were covered in darkness by contrast.  
“John…” Nate started crying again, but it was from relief, from happiness. 

_John… you’re here…_

But the man didn’t come down to him. Like a judge upon a high pulpit, he stood above as the flames died down.  
“John?” he called again, unsure what was happening. Had John been… Had John been the one killing the raiders? Sure, he had come from the right spot and rationality told Nate there was no other way, but John was… 

He wouldn’t… 

Not like that… 

The man stood like a stature. His head seemed to be turned Nates way, yet he seemed unmoving, unwilling to descend.  
Nate turned on the light on his Pipboy and pointed it upwards. He froze.  
The mayor of Goodneighbor looked like a broken puppet. He was completely soaked in what appeared to be both fresh and dried through blood. Even his face was caked in red, along with the silken shirt, the blue west. He looked a bit singed.  
Nate cried out in despair. “John…John… are you…Are you still in there?”  
The ghouls eyes looked completely empty. Instead of the warm brown-black they usually showed, there was now a shade of milky white before those dark irises. His face looked dead. Expressionless.  
“John…”  
The man jumped down suddenly. He looked at him unfocused. Like no one was home behind those eyes.  
“You’re hurt.” Johns voice was tight and angry but Nate allowed himself a tiny bit of relief. John was still in there. Somewhere.  
Didn’t mean he wasn’t feral.  
“Its… yes. I can’t walk anymore, I think.” The ghoul tried grabbing him by both shoulders, roughly, lifting him, but Nate winced in pain. Stimpaks only did so much. John growled aggravated. “What is it?!”, he snarled. Nate looked at him, scared. “I was shot in the shoulder earlier... John what’s going on?”  
“NOTHING!” John’s eyes widened even more, his snarling now deeper, harsher. He rammed a hand into one of his pockets, got out something that seemed like Buffout and cracked down on it. His eyes seemed to grew ever madder as he did and Nate started shaking again. What was happening? Was John going feral? Should he ask him? Was this what it was like? Would he rip away his throat in a minute?  
“I’m not going to eat you.” John placed one hand behind Nates back, the other under his legs and lifted him up in a fluid motion. The ghouls fists were clenched, his face frozen in a terrifying mask of angry teeth as he carried the man who loved him through Boston. It was a quiet night with the full moon shining above them. 

If they weren’t both so thoroughly fucked up, this would have been a nice night. 

__

As John carried him through the dark, Nate’s fear for the man began to wither. Going feral probably didn’t happen like this. More likely, the man was completely high. 

_But why? Why now? Like this?_

He doze away slightly. Despite the savage mask, the blood, the angry stupor… this man was still John Hancock.  


“I killed him” John kicked in a door.  
“Who?”  
“McDonough. He’s dead.” The mask was still there but seemed less set in stone now. He walked up some stairs. Nate tried to process this. “But… the people of Diamond City…”  
“They knew. He shot a guy.” His voice was pressed. His jaw tight. His eyes were still gone but in the darkness of the staircase, Nate felt reassuring fingers on his back, under his thighs. John carried him into an unfamiliar room with a double bed where he placed him on the mattress carefully.  
Nate let out a sigh of relief. He had no clue where they were, but at least they’d made it this far in one piece. 

_Probably because John has already killed every single would-be-assailant in this city before running into me_

John took off his coat and his west, apparently uncaring were he dropped it. He pushed his boots of his feet while his stance still seemed set on ‘brawling’. Nate opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say. Johns entire stance still radiated to wish, no, the need, for violence. Yet he took off his hat in a rather calm manner, placing it on an entirely out-of-place antique cembalo. He climbed on top of the bed and started taking most of nates armor off. It wasn’t heavy and while john was much more clumsy than usual, his movements stiff and weirdly aggressive, every movement made Nate glow in warmth a little bit more.  
_He’s completely torn up. Inside and out. And yet he takes care of me…_  
He looked at the ghoul lovingly as the man removed the last of his heavier leather straps might rest comfortable. The ghoul still avoided his eyes, not looking him in the face.  
“Sleep. Now.” He grumbled and lay down, still not looking at him.  
“John…”  
“Sleep.” He was shaking.  
Nate thought about it for a second and decided he didn’t care. He turned and pulled John close to him. He let it happen. Stiff like a frozen fish. A second passed in perfect silence. Five. Ten. Neither of them seemed to breathe. John shook again for a moment, then started shaking harder but Nate kept holding him, one hand moving to stroke the top of his head. John wheezed. Terrified. Sad. He embraced Nate painfully hard, pressing the man to his chest and cried out in a shrill, agonized caw as he held him, stroked him.  
“I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here.” Nates voice broke immediately as he said those words. And while he had no tears left to shed, he wept with the man. Wept as John shook and cried and quietly screamed. Wept for both of them. For their pain. For their love.  
As the moon drew higher, they finally came to a rest, drifting.  
“John…?”  
“Mnn?”  
“I’m here. I’m… here.” He thought he felt a smile pressed against his cheek. Strong arms held him tight.  
He’d said it to remind them both. The thought aiding both as the night grew large.  
He was here. With John. Now. 


	9. Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As tensions reach their peak, its time for Nate and his troops to bring the fight to the Institute.

“Alright.” Nate was marching up and down before his gathered allies. “We continue as planned. John, Nick, Deacon and I sneak into the Institute via the old tunnels. Once we’re inside the control room we teleport all of you inside were Tom and Sturges take position- be our eyes and ears while we’re inside. The Institute will likely try to seal everything as soon as they realize somethings wrong, so we’ll likely go through the ruins of the old robotics division to get to the core. The important thing is that we manage to sound the evacuation alarm before we blow everything to hell. I will not have more blood on my hands than strictly necessary.” He looked at the rallied ‘troops’, his face grim. Half a dozen railroad agents, half a dozen Minutemen. It would have been easy to gather a whole platoon – but the more people they took inside, the harder it would be to effectively maneuver everyone around, as would making sure they all got out again, too. He swallowed thickly, trying not to think of all that could go wrong with this, blocking out what he was doing if everything went right.  
_Don’t think it.  
Don’t go there._

_Not now._

The image of his grown son, lying dead, pulsed through his mind. His thoughts couldn’t quite bury it.

At least it didn’t gain enough traction to kick off his guilt-compulsions again.

Nate felt a vein pop at his forehead, ignored it. He gazed sternly at the troops. “Any questions on the procedural?”

“Yeah… Has anyone but you ever been to the Institute?” A testy young gun. One of several railroad heavies, seeming a little less at ease than the others he’d worked with before.

“Not yet. But you’re all about to.”

“So… Like… Look, I don’t mean to attack you or anything, but... I’m just saying. There’s rumours out there that the Director is your own son. And we know for a fact that you have been working with them in the past, and, I’m sorry, but that makes me a little uneasy. Anything you have to say on that topic? “

Nate looked at the man, thinking, pondering what to say. He felt Nick and John move back to his side, a silent show of support. Deacon strolled casually over to Desdemona, facing the troops, glancing at Nate as if to ask for permission.

He sighed. “Look…” He pinched the root of his nose. “It’s… true. The Director of the Institute is… my son.” A mumble went through the masses. “I can’t really tell you much to make you trust me. I can only offer you this truth. The Director… must be stopped. His personal relation to me makes this much…much more difficult for me… than you can imagine. But there is no doubt in my heart or mind that the Institute must be stopped. And I will do everything in my power to make that happen.” He stood upright again, his back straight, his hands at his sides. He tried to look the way he knew he needed to look at this moment. A symbol of strength and honesty. The General of the Minuteman. The trustworthy Agent Whisper.  
Doubt raised its ugly head as he started to lose his mental footing again. Could he really guide these people? Was telling the truth here the right thing to do? Did he just implode his integrity, destroying the reputation he’d build over the past few months? The people looked at him with a mix of confusion and surprise, their eyes moving from him over to Desdemona and Preston, the latter seeming only mildly surprised at his honesty, while the leader of the Railroad looked at him, both disappointed and shocked.

_Is she going to withdraw? Now? After everything I’ve done for them?_

He wasn’t sure if he was really going to blame them if she did. Preston had been clued in for some time now, but Des-

He’d always found reasons not to tell her, always prepared to have some kind of distraction prepared or a pressing matter lined up in case she’d decided to address the rumors.

“Weeeelll. This seems like an excellent time for a time out, if you ask me.” Deacon had stepped up, positioned now half-way between himself and Desdemona.

“Thank you, Deacon. In light of this-“ Desdemona started off, but the Agent held up his hand, straight in front of her face. She blinked, seeming shocked at Deacons behavior.

“Sorry Des, not how I meant.” He made a point of nodding at Nate, a reassuring smile on his face, before he turned to stand by his side again, addressing the whole of the Railroad. “I can see how you guys are all riled up now. Oh no, Whisper is the Director’s dad. Boo-fucking-hoo. What should he have done, huh? He woke up from Cryo-sleep to find his baby boy taken, went through hell to find him, bringing back the Minuteman in the progress and saving all our collective asses multiple times during the recent shitshow after Switchboard. He works with us to get to our biggest enemy, the Institute and finds that king douchebag is his son. Great. Can any of you even imagine how he must’ve felt when he found out? And it hasn’t been that long since he found out, you know.” He let that settle for a second. Nate felt himself strangely touched by Deacons words. He knew he’d gotten the mans trust, but, for Deacon to go all-out like that, for him, was still… somewhat surprising.

“He came back to us, knowing that. What do you think would have happened if he straight-up told Desdemona?” He turned to her, a sad smile on his face. “Des, you’re a great leader. You know I respect that. You know I follow your lead… most of the time. But you would have wanted to exploit this connection immediately. And the man was hurting.” He turned to the rest of the troops. “He still is. Look at this man. He is a deeply moral, caring person, he’s proved that literally dozens of times, long before he could have known whom his son had become, long before he could have started running a long con on us. He worked his ass off to find his son and then discovers who he is. You think that was easy for him? You think he’d throw over all his ideals like nothing when he discovers who his son is? For a family who’d stand against everything this man has fought for every freaking day since he woke up in this time?!” He breathed hard for a moment, shaking his head. “This is tougher on him than anyone else. So, don’t come here questioning the loyalty of a man who’s fought tooth and nail the help, to save, each of us. He’s a good man. I stand with him. Through everything. And if you really need more testimony to trust the guy-“He nodded over to Nick and John. “Not like Nick Valentine or John Hancock were known for packing up their own business and just go trekking with whomever. I’m sure they’d have a thing or two to say about the character of the Best Agent we’ve ever had.” He took a breath, looking at the people in silence for another second. “He’s… he’s my friend. And I won’t let anyone of you badmouth him for something he cannot control.”

Silence reigned after Deacons speech. People shuffled with their feet; others looked to the ground. Nate himself felt exposed, yet, he was grateful. Deacons last comment touched him in a strange way. At any rate, it was all in the open, now. Nate cleared his throat. “So…uhm. Any other questions?”

  


They were in a strange mood as they made their way through the underground. Alternating between grim silences and inappropriate jokes, Nate wasn’t quite sure what state of mind his brain could be called at this point. He’d laugh at everything. He’d get mad at everything, sad about anything. At one point he’d shot three synths, only to get sad about a tiny spider he accidently smooched as he opened the hatch to the next area.

“Say, Deacon…” They crawled through another sewage pipe. “How’d you know about me being in Cryo-stasis anyway? I’m pretty sure I never told you about that…”

“Hmmm? Oh, I saw you leave to Vault.”

“You WHAT?!”

Deacon decided to use this moment to sprint forward to fire at two activating laser turrets, leaving Nate alone in his surprise. Nick looked from him back to Deacon who was now dismembering a protectron and shrugged. “Aren’t you used to him being like that by now?” He chuckled to himself, raising his flamethrower, marching on.

  


The farther they made their way, the harder it got for Nate to stay cool about anything. They had just left the tunnel-system behind them and made their way into the control room. Nate felt himself slipping, mentally. He heard every tiny tap on a gun, the shuffling of feet. He felt people walking around him, noticed every edge, smelled every particle. Every sense was heightened. He was hyper-aware about everything and everyone around him.  
It drove him crazy. As Hancock walked by him, meeting his eyes with worry for just a moment, Nate felt a surge of misplaced aggression. The urge to hurt, to bite, to kill – why did Hancock look at him like that? He was fine! There was no reason to stare at him like he was about to collapse or go insane or roll up into a ball and cry! He was fine! Fine!

He knew those weren’t his real emotions. Some part of him in a hidden corner knew, that by now, he was just projecting. That his misplaced anger, the tension in his jaw, the shaking… that this was all an expression of his feelings, of this horrible, horrible situation – an outlet for the pain he felt inside because as soon as he looked inward, as soon as he allowed these pictures to take hold of his mind, even for a moment, he felt himself breaking.  
The others stood around him, not too close to annoy him, close enough to show support. They knew what was going on inside him, didn’t they? They knew what had to be done, after all, what he was going to have to do. And they all felt his anger, his sorrow with him. It felt like invisible bonds had fastened between them, connecting their hearts and minds. United less in their desire to do what was right, but more through the bonds they’d forged between them. He knew they would stand by him, no matter what.

Even if a part of him screamed to tear their heads off.

 

John felt a strange mix of emotions bubbling in his core. Anger, Excitement…tiredness.  
They had just reached the control room and where now waiting for the others to teleport in. Immediately afterwards they would press on and… get all of this done for good. He was happy to get it over, had wanted this to be so for some time. He just wanted to get his answers, get revenge and then just... sleep. Take Nate to one of the few nice spots in the wealth, shag his brains out and then sleep. Sleep and finally let the past die with this gruesome place. He watched as the Railroad came in first, taking up positions to guard the technicians which would be staying here, all the while the minuteman teleported in. “General.” Garvey, Nate and Desdemona exchanged some quick ‘so-this-is-the-enemy-stronghold’-chitchat, but John wasn’t really listening.

Nate had mapped out the inside of the Institute as much as he could, reminding them that the main areas they had to get to were the director’s personal terminal as well as advanced systems. He’d also talked about other parts which would be relevant given were their allied synths would come from, were scientists might haul up and from which end the opposition would strike the quickest, but John was focused on something else-

The old FEV-lab. 

He desperately wanted to be with Nate when he had to go to the Directors quarters. He couldn’t let him go through this alone, given that his son would most likely be there. But... He also needed to get to those labs. If his brother had indeed been captured, this was the spot where they would have kept records, so he just had to find a window of opportunity to get there…

He swallowed, trying to keep away the thought that kept nagging his mind. That there was another source of information in here. One that would certainly help him to get at least a degree of clarity.

The director himself.

But getting knowledge that way was out of the question. It would be hard for him either way, standing by Nate in front of that monster without… talking to the guy. Without sinking his teeth in, shaking him, stabbing him until he told him-  
John took a few deep breaths. He counted his shotgun-shells. Bend down to tie his boots a bit tighter. It didn’t do him any good to get lost in fantasies like this. Especially now. No, the Director was off limits.  
It would be hard enough on Nate to go into that room without his… _partner_...going off in a rage-spree.

 

Nates mind was awash with images. Though doubled lenses he saw his environment, the old robotics lab, the synths, the gritty equipment- his head filled with flashes of other violence. Inhuman noises, screams- dark flashes over dying faces, people he used to know screaming at him, cursing him, dying in agony in the atomic blast.

He ignored it. Shot another synth. Pressed on. Kept his grim face and reminded his men to keep going, keep together.

The images, the noises, the guilt… It just washed through him. He knew he couldn’t fight it. Even before all this, there had been times-

A flash of light cursed through his mind. Nora. Holding him. Stroking him. A protector in the night, a guardian against his darkness. Nate made a high, whining sound before he could stop himself. More pain. So much more pain. He was used to the dark, the violent, the empty, screaming faces – it was the good things he remembered that hurt so much more. Things he couldn’t just let inside and let go again, a passing shadow, but rather-

He made a waving gesture and shook his head as his companions looked at him, questioning if he was okay. They knew he wasn’t. They knew his head was a silent hell he couldn’t escape.

He knew it was less a ‘are you okay?’ and more a ‘will you get through this?’ but his inner voice started screaming. Yelling. Roaring through the mists of hell and he couldn’t control himself anymore. The need for violence cursed through him and he ran. Charged the next group of synths and just beat them, his gun a club, his moves savage. In his rage he used his teeth, biting deep into synthetic flesh, tearing off that mask of skin when a buzz burned his head, smacking him in the face.

Darkness-

 

John saw when Nate lost it – he knew the others did too. As his love ran into the ball of enemies, swinging and raging, he knew there would be trouble. The look in his eyes had seemed too rage-crazed, too empty. John started to ask himself, for the first time, if Nate really could go through with this. If infiltrating the Institute hadn’t been enough. If killing his son would be too much. As he watched the man jump forward suddenly, ripping a synths throat open to be suddenly covered in blue sparks, apparently getting a hefty electric shock, the fear started ripping at the seams of his soul. He froze. Froze as he watched Nick sprint forward, pulling Nate of the synth, breaking the contact. Frozen still, when Deacon leaned over making sure the man was alright.  
_Move_  
_Move, dammit_  
_Get over there!_  
_He needs you!_  
Johns breath felt stuck in his lungs. His feet wouldn’t move.  
What if Nate didn’t make it? Not this blackout, this small setback… but this whole thing.  
What if… the pain of stopping his son… the guilt over what he was about to do… put him over the edge?  
Johns mind went blank with panic. He felt his feet drowsily stepping forward slowly, tunnel-vision singling out everything that wasn’t Nate, focusing solely on the unconscious man on the ground, his shallow breathing, his thin, matted hair. The worried face. Anguished even when passed out.  
“Nate…” John fell to his knees on the man’s side, cradling his head. The battle was still going on around them, fighters running by, light beams making their way through the halls.  
_Nate… please… please don’t leave me…_

When Nate came to, his head felt like he’d been run over by a truck. Solid, Angry pain buzzed in his face, on his crown.  
“uargh…” He mumbled, expressing his pain. What had even happened? He’d been… in the control room… a corridor… there’d been synths-  
The other images came back to. The violence. The darkness. His son. Laughing at him. Sending crows, sending synths, sending Kellogg, his face an evil grimace as he laughed and laughed and laughed…  
He moved from side to side, his eyes getting wet, trying to will the images away. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this.  
_Please… Please just let it end… please…_  
“Shhh… its fine. It should ease in a moment.”  
_John._  
He felt it now. A leathery hand on his chest, keeping him from moving too much, another in his neck, doing something sticky.  
“John…” His jaw hurt. “What are you…” Suddenly he felt the pain ease. Starting from his head, thick, glowing bands of relaxation rolled down his body, so strong it almost felt like a physical force was striking down on him, forcing his battered form to relax. He let out a small sigh of pleasure, the sudden lack of tension almost like a drug-  
He opened his eyes, staring at John. He noticed how clear his mind was, suddenly. Everything seemed lighter, less sharp, less burning.  
“John…” He looked at the ghoul. He seemed strange. What a strange man. They were both strange, really, just in rather different ways…  
“John… did you drug me?” The ghoul fixated him for a moment. “Yes. I had to. Nothing strong. Just… to calm you.” He stroked Nates head softly. “Harmless stuff really. Some calmex, a shot of Jeffries beard. And I smeared your neck with red healing paste. Think you can get up?”  
They stumbled on for a minute or two, Nate still struggling to get his feet under his legs properly, one arm kept on Hancocks shoulders as a brace. The area had gone considerably quieter, with the gunfire seeming quite a bit more distant now. He could tell the ghoul was thinking about something, but he himself couldn’t get a clear thought through. Everything felt… lighter, brighter… he was still afraid, still angry, but It seemed like he saw his emotions displayed in a showcase, rather than experiencing them. The loss of a son, the fear for his friends, his love, who had accompanied him on this mission? All that happened to that other guy. He himself was just floating through this corridor, the evil and sadness a blurry nightmare his mind avoided.

John guided Nate through the tunnels, closer to the gunfire again. Trying to recall which way Bioscience would be once they reached the atrium. He still hadn’t decided how to go on about this. There was no way he was leaving Nate at this moment, not like this. If it really came to it-

He sighed. If there was no other way he would have to go without his answers, without taking this chance to find the truth.  
He looked up at his love, a man struggling with the situation in heart and mind.  
John clenched his teeth. His priorities were clear. If he found a way to get Nate to go there with him, he would, but if he didn’t, if there wasn’t a way-  
_Maybe I should just ask him_  
But it would be one more thing to take care of, one more problem, one more task. For all his strength, Nate was still a somewhat delicate man where it came to his mind. And this was a huge thing to take care of, if he was being honest. And he wasn’t sure he would be able to focus on keeping Nate upright if they got there-  
_I need these answers. I need to know. Need to. If I don’t find out here, I never will, I’ll never really know if he-_

They moved through another door, finally leaving old robotics, entering a room with pristine white walls. A lab. Hancock looked around, his brows furrowing. “Nate… what department is this?”

The man raised his head, glanced around and let out a little sigh. “Bioscience.” He glanced around again, straightening, apparently wishing to try and walk on his own again. “The FEV-lab is back there.”

John froze, making a confused sound. “I- er- Really? That’s- Uhm-“He was confused. This was his chance. It was right here. He just had to go through the door, and-

“Should we take a look? I know you want to… snoop around.” He looked at him, smiling sadly. “And it’s not like I… look forward to…” His words drowned in a heavy sigh. He moved his hand up to rub his face. “I mean... I want to get it over with. Need to get it over with. But- “His voice broke again. “I… I’m afraid, John. I’m… I’m just afraid.” He rubbed tears out of his eyes, looking down. John put his hand on Nate’s back again, stroking him softly, moving around to embrace him. “I… I know. I got you.” His rasp was a bit thick too, while Nate all but collapsed around him, pressing close, small, whimpering gasps shredding Johns heart even more. It felt like Nate just wanted to hide from the world. Wanted to crawl under Johns shirt and vanish.

They stood like that for maybe a minute when Nate took a deep breath and separated himself again. His hands remained on Johns shoulders for a moment while he looked at him seriously. “I know how much this would mean to you. And I wouldn’t want… I wouldn’t want you to not take this chance to maybe still get some answers for you.”

John nodded slowly, his heart thrumming. Nate guided him towards the lab door and he felt himself getting more and more nervous. What would he find? Would it be anything that could at all relate to him? Anything helpful?

“I, uh- “They were standing in front of the door. “I just… want to warn you, John. There are still… subjects in the test tubes, in there. And I’m not sure…” he took a deep breath, his eyes flickering back to that wild madness he had earlier before he centered himself again. “I just don’t know if we’ll find anything helpful.”

John nodded, grateful. He squeezed Nates arm reassuringly and opened the door.  
Despite Nates words, John had not been prepared. As soon as they went inside, the smell of old grime, sweat, chemicals and death washed over them. The room they entered contained two gigantic lab tubes, filled with a ghastly see-through green liquid, containing two- yes, it had to be called ‘test subjects’ for they hadn’t always been super mutants.  
John stepped closer, slowly, his jaw tense as he raised on hand to touch the glass.

_Guy… have you… have you been here? Is this… Is this what happened to you?_

“How long… How long do you think these have been here…?”  
They looked around the place, looking for notes, entries, information scraps…

Nothing. Nothing! After all this, after they had made it here-  
There was nothing to find for him. He didn’t know what he had really been hoping for. Most test subjects were called just that test subjects. Sometimes small mentions were made of the circumstances of their lifes before transformation or information was given on what they looked like before, but it was all useless!  
He tried to contain his disappointment. He looked through the grimy room, his hands twitching, heart racing.  
_Focus on breathing._  
In and out.  
This is okay.  
You knew there wasn’t too much you could have really hoped for.  
And it… it doesn’t really change anything. 

_Not really._

His eyes burned and he felt the urge to cry rise inside of him. _Goddamn waterworks._  
He rubbed his face with his sleeve angrily, stomping through the room some more. He caught side of another ruined shelf, a binder on the far side.  
_Don’t get your hopes up._  
It didn’t look like there were any documents in there anyway, the binder just rattled a bit when he picked it up. He gingerly moved to stick his hand in, but stopped himself. Who knew what stickiness would have awaited him? Instead he dumped the contents on one of the consoles.  
Shards. Stones. Little penchants and geep-gawks as well as-  
John felt the world stop. He fumbled to get a grip on the tiny thing, his fingers shaking. He finally grasped it, sitting down as he did, his knees buckling under the weight of the implication.

_“I’ll give it back when you do something, we can both be proud of!”_

He closed his eyes, shaking with tears, not able to hold back now. It was a blue-striped Augers Shell. He knew it was. He’d recognized it immediately and as his fingers felt around it, he found all the little nooks and cranks in the surface, all those tiny spikes he’d felt on it when he’d first found it, kept it, cradled it at night as a good-luck-charm and-  
He remembered when Guy told him he’d given it away. Given it to a girl he’d said. Some fifteen years ago.  
He sobbed.  
That had been the time then. That had been… when they took him. He couldn’t help but imagine his brother being dragged here, holding on to the little penchant, his good luck charm, desperate and afraid-  
Nate had moved behind him silently, slinging his arms around the ghoul in a reassuring embrace as he just let it all out. It didn’t matter that there was fighting going on outside.  
He needed to let himself go. To let it out.  
Even for just a moment.

When they made their way to Advanced systems, they walked in silence. Most of the fighting had stopped for now. The troops had secured their position in the main hall, but they were also locked inside until someone with executive access opened the doors.  
It was time to visit the director’s office.  
They entered the elevator in silence. Nate stood tall, his face set in stone. As the doors closed and they moved downwards, invisible to the troops now, he grabbed Johns hand, hard. He didn’t say anything. He looked at his feet. Holding on to that hand.  
The elevator stood; its doors opened. They remained inside; their hands clasped together tightly. Breathing. Waiting.  
“Nate.”  
The man still looked down, didn’t respond.  
John moved to stand in front of him, still holding his hand. “It’s time, Nate. We… We need to do this.” He stood on his tiptoes and kissed his forehead. He had no doubts that this was indeed something Nate needed to do himself. It would have been easy for him, John, to go in there by himself and get them access to the other areas – though he probably would have taken Nick with him to get through the terminal. And possibly roughed up ‘the kid’ a bit for being such a monster.  
Still. This was Nates last chance for a proper goodbye. A last conversation. Final words. He needed to have them, even if he was afraid to go there.  
Nate nodded silently; his eyes still pinched together. He started walking up the stairs, never letting go of Johns hand. The latter felt nervous. It was like what he always imagined it would feel like to meet a partner’s parents for the first time – only this was a much more twisted, contorted version of that scenario. Yet, he felt a strange sense of comfort in Nates need to hang onto him like this. Almost made him forget how much additional hatred might be uttered in the upcoming conversation due to the simple fact that Nate was in love with a ghoul.  
They reached the second floor. Opened the door. Nate walked through like a puppet, the only expression of his emotions now the shaking of his arm, the intensity with which he held on to Hancocks.

“I didn’t expect to see you again.”

Nate finally lifted his head, looking at his son.

John was surprised by how ordinary the Director looked. He didn’t know what he had expected, but when they had entered and made their way to the man lying in bed, he’d seemed so very small and unimportant for a man who was responsible for so much death and cruelty.  
_Guess one can never tell from the look’s what kind of asshole a person really is._  
But it was also startingly how much he and Nate looked alike. The same shape of eyes, same skin taint. They shared jaw-lines and ears. His hair looked like, at one point, it could have had the same color as Nate’s.  
John felt more out of place then he’d previously thought possible. The man didn’t really look at them, didn’t seem to acknowledge Johns presence. Maybe his eyesight was going.

“Have you come to see the reactor? We’ve got it working without you, you know…”

Nate shook his head, his jaw clenched, his eyes closing for a moment. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Shaun. I can’t… I cannot let this go on.”

“You’re sorry? Hah. You can’t be that sorry if you’re here, going through with it.” A coughing fit hit him and he started gasping for air. Nate reacted out of instinct, rushing forward, loosing Johns hand to move to rub Shaun’s back, getting the coughing to ease but the man pushed him away, reaching for some water instead. Nate recoiled like he’d been burned. “I- I only wanted-“

“Wanted what?! To help me?! Here?! Now? It’s not enough that I lay here, dying, no, you’re here to destroy my life’s work! Don’t pretend you’re on my side now! Not again!” He coughed again, an evil, vengeful look in his eyes, glancing from Nate – hunched over, looking like a child faced with immeasurable terror – to John, who felt his hatred for this man, this monster, grow by the second, who had to fight to remain standing here and not go grabbing this man by the throat and shaking him until all the hate fell out of the bastard.  
But he remained calm. He moved the few steps back to Nate, placed his arm around his back and focused on being a calming presence. It was a strange state of mind. He was mad as hell at the man. The urge to tear into that weak flesh remained a tempting though, an insidious idea that made his mouth water in bloodlust.  
But standing with Nate was more important.

“I was always on your side, Shaun.” His voice was hollow. “I always hoped-“

“Pah. Spare me. You’ve been working with the Railroad the entire time. And I was stupid enough to let it go. A sentimental old fool. And now you’re back. And this is the kind of company you’ve chosen for yourself.” He gave John a look like he wasn’t worth the dirt under his shoes, sneering at him. “I’m disgusted I called you my father. I gave you everything. A home. A purpose. A cleaner, more fulfilling life than you could have ever hoped for. And you betray me. For what? Under what righteous pretense have you justified this atrocity?”

Nate looked up at Shaun again, his blue eyes rimmed red, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You kidnapped people. Experimented on them. Without reason. Hunted and murdered synths. Basically, made and kept your own slaves. Abused the people of the Commonwealth of their fear and refused to help those in need.” He shook his head, tears streaming from his eyes once more. “You may not understand why that is a problem. I’m actually certain... that… you don’t.” He let out a small whimper. “But it’s wrong, Shaun. And… I will not allow this to continue.”

“Spare me your self-righteousness. You’ve been there. You know they are doomed. They enslave each other themselves. Eat their own in some places. You have no moral standing. We are not savages. We are the future. And now… you’re killing the future with us.” He looked down on his hands now, grasping invisible things. “The only question now is, why are you standing here? Is it regret? Have you come to gloat?”

“I’m here… to save people, Shaun. We will break through your security, no matter what. But if you let me shut down the synths, if you let me set the evacuation protocol in motion, more will survive. We might get all the scientists out of here alive, unharmed even. Don’t you want that? Their survival is so important for the future-“

“Now you want to help science?! Now you want to keep them alive?! Then don’t destroy our work, our homes!” He started coughing, shaking.

“No…” Nate shook his head, hot tears running down his face. “Shaun… I cannot let you continue like this. Just… give me the access code. Please.”  
But Shaun turned his head, seemingly ignoring him. John fought the urge to grab the old man by the collar to shake the codes out of him. “Let him be, Nate. He’s too self-centered to care. He’s dying anyway, so why would he give a shit if anyone else survives.” He’d stood beside Nate the entire time, keeping a warm hand on his back, a steady presence to keep him supported. The man looked uncertain and tired now. He gave John a sad look and half-collapsed into his shoulder, seemingly too fed up with the world to care any longer. John hauled his left arm around him, pressing Nate to his side, still looking at the director in his bed.

What a stubborn bastard Nates son was. “I guess science really isn’t all that important to you, is it?!”, He stared at the sick man, disgusted, holding Nate close, not letting him go. “It’s all ego, really. You’re butthurt your father will leave a better legacy for the Commonwealth than you will, so you’d rather take everyone with you instead of letting people get their chance at making a life outside.”

Shaun turned again, disgust in his eyes. “I don’t follow such trivial concerns! My legacy will only be tarnished by ever being associated with people like him! People who cannot see the greater picture, who don’t understand that what we do here is for the betterment of humanity!”

“And you’re willing to let it all die. How’s that gonna make it all better?” John turned away from him, dragging Nate towards the console. “Come on. He’s just going to keep eating you. We’ll do this without him.” He kept the man close, noticing how he still tried straying away a little, still twitched, his head moving into Shaun’s direction. John stroked his head, kissed his forehead. “Sssshhhh. We’ll be done here soon. Don’t think about it. Focus on me. We’ll be done soon… soon.” He tried cracking the password with one hand, upset they hadn’t taken Nick with them after all. This would have been easy pickings for the synth. Instead Nate was stuck with him, a man desperate to leave, with little hacking skills to boot. _Gee, what a dream-team we are._  
And yet… a small part of him was happy to be here. To be the one Nate had indeed chosen to get him through this. The one he trusted to bring him back out on the other side of it all.

He heard Shaun sigh behind him. “It’s “bereavement”. The password. The evacuation protocol is BD-2. Please… use it.” Nate breathed heavier, raising his head, but John kept him close, wouldn’t let him go. He just nodded silently, typing it in. Deactivating the synths. Activating the protocol. They walked by Shaun. Old. Frail. Disappointed.

Silent. 

A burning hatred as John looked at him. Maybe. John didn’t bother to look at him much, trying to drag Nate out. The man raised his head once. Looking into the director’s direction who looked sadder now. Was a man like this capable of real regret? Even now?

John ushered Nate out the doors, down the stairs, until they’d reached the lower floor again. The man had dug his fingers deep into Johns clothes, his hands balled up, desperate not to let go.  
The synths around had bend over, shut off mid-movement.  
“Nate… it’s okay. We’ll be done soon.” Nate kept his head down, shaking, burrowing into Johns shoulder.  
“I don’t… I don’t want any more of this, John. I need to get away from here! I can’t do this! I can’t do anything! I… I can’t!” He shook a moment longer before he suddenly let go, collapsing to the floor as his knees buckled away. John kneeled, embracing him, drawing him close once more. “I know. You don’t have to do it. You don’t have to-“  
“No. No, No, No… I cannot… No.”  
“I understand.” He kept stroking his back slowly, angst tearing away at him. They needed to get going. He wasn’t going to improve like this, he was just going to get worse. Maybe another dose of Jeffries beard?  
“I can do it, Nate. It’s okay. I know where to put the explosives. I can just leave you with someone else and take care of it, and then-“  
“No!” Nate’s head abruptly snatched up. He grabbed Johns arms, a mad look in his eyes. “Leave me here! I deserve to die here! I should have died a long time ago! This was just the spillover of my time! I should die here, with what’s left of my lineage-“  
Johns heart froze that those words. How could he… After everything…  
_He’s not thinking clearly. Don’t get mad. This is too much for him-_  
But he couldn’t contain his anger anymore, all this pain, all this loss, the blood, sweat, tears-  
“And what about me, Nate?” He was quieter than he would have thought, but anger fried his brain as he grabbed Nates collar, drawing him closer to his face. “Do you want me to just go on without you? To pretend like nothing happened? Just another human to leave behind?! Do you expect ME to KILL YOU?!” To leave you behind like EVERYONE ELSE?!” He too was shaking, his own words ringing in his ears.  
“I can’t…” Nate whispered, shook his head, his face a wet, red mess now. John bared his teeth. A part of him recognized that Nate was ‘just’ having a breakdown, that he couldn’t handle all this and that he, John, had actually seen this coming-  
But he couldn’t think straight himself anymore. He felt himself yell incomprehensibly into the mans face, his vision shortening out. Everything went blurry, but he was still yelling… it was just muffled somehow…

 

When John collapsed Nate could do nothing but stare. The ghoul had yelled at him for a moment, then mumbled. Then he’d suddenly fallen over. Huh. Nate was still on his knees, he could tell. John was right here, in front of him. He’d been holding on to him some time ago. Hadn’t he? But… he’d stopped… at one point…  
John’s eyes were still open, they’d just rolled back into his skull. An odd sight, considering the white’s in his eyes were thoroughly black. Nate stared at him. He knew there were things he was supposed to be doing. He knew he should take care of John now, get him out of here. He knew he should go down there and… finish this. He knew it had to be done, he still believed it. And he knew he wouldn’t want to put this on anyone else. This mess was all part of his own legacy, after all. He knew all these things, deep down, in the back of his head.  
But all he could do was stare.

“I guess this has been a long time coming.”

Nate felt incapable to feel surprised at Prestons arrival. The man had appeared seemingly out of nowhere – though Nates field of vision was so restricted, he probably just hadn’t seen him climb the stairs. The man walked towards him, waving a hand directly in front of his face. “Yeah. I thought so.” He hunkered down, feeling for Johns pulse, checking his eyes. “Also, not surprising.” He sighed and sat down at the edge of Nates blurry vision, leaning against the stairwell. “I’m not sure... if you can hear me. I think you can. I’ve seen people like this before and I’d like to think I’ve learned to spot the difference. You still seem lucid. Just... trapped… I guess.” He sighed again, seeming sad, yet strangely gratified. “Forgive me. But… I truly am not surprised. To put your mind, if its in there, somewhere, at ease… The area is completely secured. We have taken all departments except for Advanced systems. Many scientists have already been successfully evacuated and most synths have shut down. So that’s taken care of…”  
_John… I need…I need to help him…_  
He felt his mind slowly to start unfreeze. He didn’t really know if he could or wanted to feel anything again, but he had to help John. Why wouldn’t his body move?  
“Anyway. I’m really here because… we’re all waiting for you. And because I figured… After what must’ve happened... it would probably be better If I was the one checking on you instead of one of the others.” He moved again, coming closer, standing near him now. “Look… I cannot tell what exactly went down. What’s going on in your head. Though I do have some theories… I think you might be thinking about that your only son is leading the institute. That this is what you left behind for the world as you were frozen. A legacy of slavery and death-“  
Nate heard himself whine, felt himself shake, but still he couldn’t move-  
“So, I can see how that would hurt you.” Prestons voice remained steady. Nate couldn’t see his eyes, but he knew the man well enough to know that his level stare would be serious but friendly. “And you might be focusing on that right now. And that its your duty to do all this, to shoulder this responsibility, that you need to stop all this and that you should die with the cause. Because it feels right, right? Wrong.” Prestons voice had gotten darker rougher, like it pained him to keep talking like this.  
He took a deep breath and sighed. “When I first met you, I was ready to die.”  
His voice was quieter now. Vulnerable. “Not just as in, ready to give my life to the cause’… I wanted to die. I wanted some raider to kill me. I was failing everyone. My troops. My friends. The settlers I was supposed to protect. Then out of nowhere, this man comes along. This person whom I’d never met. Bewildered by the world around him. Shoots up the raiders. Pilots the power armor. Kills a deathclaw. Brings us all to a new place to settle, a safe place, a harbor… the settlers were safe. And suddenly I was out of raiders who could have done me the favor of killing me.” He got down on one knee in front of him, took his hat of, holding it in front of his chest. He looked him directly in the eye now. “You saved me Nate. You saved me that day, and every day after that. You kept going around saving people, recruiting villages. Every day I’d hear of the things you did for the common man. Every day someone new volunteered, someone who had been lost, just like me, who suddenly had a perspective in life, something to fight for. Something to live for. You changed the life of every citizen of the Commonwealth for the better, Nate. And if you think the good you did can never outweigh the bad your so-called-son did… think again. The Institute was already here, long ago. Ask Nick. They were doing this shit almost a century before your son even arrived. These things would have happened either way. The only thing that was changed by your arrival in this time, is that now we can fight it. Now you can fight it. Put a stop to it. Not to make up for anything anyone has done. But to build a better future for all of us.” He got up again, putting his hat back on his head.  
“I know you heard me. I’ll be waiting for you downstairs… General.”

Nate heard the steps move away, the echoes of Prestons words bouncing around in his head. After what felt like an eternity of struggling, he broke the invisible bonds, falling. He rolled to the floor, deliberately. Every muscle felt sore, weak and tired. He pushed himself towards the ghoul on the floor, reaching a heavy arm around the mans back, drawing him close. As he pressed his face to Johns chest, breathing the spicy air around him, listening to the steady heartbeat, he felt his burdens even out, his shoulders falling.  
He just needed to breathe for a moment.  
Just to let go.  
Just one more moment…

When he walked down the stairs, he’d cleared his face as much as possible. His back was straight, his posture rigid. He carried John in his arms, focusing on radiating confidence and decisiveness. If he focused on keeping a stern face for long enough, he might even believe it himself. The atrium was almost empty around the center. Preston, Nick and Deacon were waiting for him. The others guarded the entrances, though Nate felt their eyes on him. he stopped briefly, nodding at Preston before turning to the Synth-detective. “Will you look after him, Nick?” He placed the unconscious man on the floor, his back to the elevator.  
“Well, sure, but- “  
“Thanks. Deacon? With me.”  
He didn’t want any discussion at this moment, turning away immediately.  
No looking back, no more delays.  
It was time.  
They marched into Advanced systems like it was their own. Minuteman to the right of them, agents to the left of them, taking out remaining synths, ushering away scientists. As they reached the reactor room, Nate and Deacon charged ahead, taking care of the coursers.  
Nate didn’t really care about anything going on. He just kept focused on the tasks at hand. Get John to safety. Check. Not letting his people getting killed by coursers-  
He shot the last one in the eye.  
Check.  
He marched up the stairs, a drumming buzz in his head. He opened the doors. The radioactivity made his teeth tingle. Fastening the explosives wasn’t an issue-  
That light… it was so bright…  
“Boss? That looks fastened enough to me. Wanna come out of there before mushrooms start springing from your hands?”  
“Yeah… Sure…”  
Deacon all but dragged him back out, the stern hand on Nates shoulder leaving little doubt in his mind that the spy had known exactly what he was thinking. There wasn’t too much going on inside his mind, at this point. He barely registered their way back through the corridor, up into the elevator. They reached the control room and someone was talking to him…  
He tried to focus. It was Sturges. He was blabbering about something. Seemed excited. Surprised. What was he saying?

“…showed up out of nowhere.”

Nate blinked. “I… what?” He’d barely hear a word. Only that it seemed urgent. “Sorry… Zoomed… out there… kinda… what did you say?”

“I, uhm… I said this kid showed up.” Sturges moved slightly to make a small child more visible. Maybe ten years old. Looking exactly like the boy he’d been shown… the synth he’d thought…

“No…” He was whispering, shaking his head in disbelieve.

“He, er, says he’s your son.”

Nate stared at the kid. Sure, enough it was the same boy he’d seen upon first coming here, the child he’d seen in the memory Den… The kid his… his son had shut down so cruelly when they first met.

“Dad! There you are! You weren’t gonna leave without me, were you?!”

He blinked. This was what he had been hoping for when he first got here. His son. Recognizing him immediately. Wanting to leave with him. Was this another one of Father’s cruel tricks? A last knife to stick in his back as he departed?

“No… sure… I wasn’t… gonna do…that…” He heard himself talk lamely. He would think about this later. There wouldn’t… he couldn’t…  
It wasn’t like he could leave the boy here, anyway.

“Really, you mean it? you’ll take me with you, Dad?!”

He nodded, eyes burning. “Sure…I mean it. You can...come with me…” He looked at Sturges, a silent plea for help. The man nodded. “Alright, we’re all ready to go then, yes? I’m sending you to the detonation side. Then set the relay here to shoot the kid back to the castle. Now you press that detonation button extra hard, you hear me? See you on the other side!”

They were transported away. 

Up on the windy tower of Mass Fusion, they handed a button to him. Desdemona and Preston were both smiling. Saying things. Whatever it was, it passed through him without meaning. He didn’t have the strength to care about anything anymore. His gaze swept over Boston for a moment, taking in the night air.  
Thinking of that night, when John had carried him through the streets, both of them broken and afraid. 

Nothing to lose but each other.

He pressed the button.


End file.
